


Men Among Kings

by hardlifeyourlife



Series: The Thief [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, M/M, and a conspiracy of kings, based off a book entitled 'the queen of attolia, by megan whalen turner, mutilation of a main character - it happens but it's not graphic, noble!Jaskier, not-so graphic depictions of violence, queen!yennefer, talk of a main characters impending death, the author plays loose with not only canon but also geography, thief!geralt, this is not fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlifeyourlife/pseuds/hardlifeyourlife
Summary: Geralt is found guilty of sneaking around the palace and pissing the queen off tremendously. The continent suffers for it.Part One of this series is mentioned consistently, and it will grow your appreciation of this work if you start from the beginning.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: The Thief [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752787
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This work is over 3/4 of the way fully written. It is based off of two books that I have kind of smashed together at my leisure, called 'the queen of attolia' and 'a conspiracy of kings' by Megan Whalen Turner. I encourage you to read them if you like this fic! This series contains major spoilers for the actual books, so be prepared. 
> 
> Huge shoutout to Schnuggs and Bash as always ❤❤
> 
> I've decided I'm not going to apologize for this, so yell at me all you want if you don't like it :D

The Thief of Kaer Morhen had grown to be more trouble than he was worth. Yennefer thought often back to when he had escaped her, sneaking through her stronghold with the Redanians in tow. It could have been a win for her of the utmost proportions, and she’d allowed it to slip through her fingers. She had known there was something amiss and stupidly believed that they would have the time to unravel the mystery before either convincing him to commit to her service or killing him outright. She underestimated him, and it had cost her dearly. 

She was only thankful that it had cost the Redanians just as much, if not more. She didn’t have to pay any form of ransom, only losing a bit of face within her court as the word had spread. It wasn’t so bad in the long run, as many of the barons who disagreed with how it had been handled were already against her in all the ways that mattered. If she couldn’t trust them now, she wouldn’t be able to trust them later. 

But the White Wolf had shown his cards to her, and she’d seen them all. He was a threat to her and Redania in equal measure. She’d seen copies of the missives sent back to Radovid informing him that should he ever again make an attempt on Kaedwini sovereignty, there was no locked room in all of Tretogor that could save him. The King hadn’t taken it in kind, but he had taken it all the same. He didn’t have much choice in the matter. 

The Queen of Aedirn had spent time regretting how the wolf slipped through her hands, but then that grief had shifted into malice. 

When she took the throne after the death of her father, Yennefer had ordered an elegant crown to be made, adorned with rare black pearls from Skellige and small diamonds. Until that moment, there hadn’t been a crown in the Kingdom fit for a Queen who was the sole ruler of the country, and she thought that needed to be fixed. As though the matter of her station sat only on whether or not she looked the part. The crown’s home was atop a velvet-lined platform next to her bed, waiting to be donned every morning. 

One of those mornings in the months after the White Wolf had escaped from her prisons, she’d woken to find that it had been shifted slightly to the right, and next to it had been placed a pair of matching black pearl earrings. They were gorgeous, and looked rather expensive, each containing five pearls dangling off of one another like dew drops on a flower. Her first thought was that it had been a gift of the visiting Nilfgaardian Ambassador, who had been gracing her court with his presence. But when questioning her staff, they’d had no answers. 

And that’s how she’d known who the gift had come from. It was the White Wolf, teasing her. Laughing at her. She knew he’d managed to have some access into her palace. And it became clear that he could be anywhere he wanted and slip out just as easily, at one point even leaving a room right before she’d entered. She’d taken it for what it was - a warning. Or an omen. From there he'd only escalated, even leaving notes beside her plate at dinner that she would crumple before anyone noticed. Stupid tricks to get her attention. 

The last time he had been in the walls of her palace, he’d only barely managed to escape without being caught. She knew that if he came back, he would not manage it again so easily. 

***

Geralt had spent the evening lounging around an old linen closet in the upper rooms of the Aedirnian Palace. It was deep in the heart of the summer by this point, and he’d spent the better part of the winter training mercilessly with Vesemir. The old man was not fully accepting of Geralt’s new trade, but it was past the point of no return, so he’d decided it was better to make him an expert. He’d stopped training with swords, replacing them with daggers. Although keeping with tradition, he’d keep two twin weapons strapped to him at all times: one steel, one silver. 

It was warm enough that there was no reason for anyone to come in search of more blankets or fur coats, so there was no reason that Geralt should have worried about being disturbed. Which is why he was all the more surprised to hear footsteps stopping in front of the door, and keys in the lock. By the time they’d made it inside, however, he’d disappeared into a vent in the wall, making his way through the hypocaust. 

He’d taken Eskel’s comments about his weight to heart, watching his diet so he wouldn’t grow back up to the bulk he’d accumulated all of his life. It made sneaking in through the heating system much easier, and once he’d gotten used to the one in Kaer Morhen, he’d moved on to bigger fish. As a witcher, he never needed this kind of subterfuge, climbing in through windows sometimes when it was necessary. But nowadays, he rarely used the front door. 

He crawled for a ways until he found a small space where many different tunnels met, laying still and listening to the thud of footsteps in the room behind him. If the Gods were with him, then they’d leave and look somewhere else and he would manage to slip out the same way he’d come in. They’d been aware of his presence in the palace for a few days now, but he wasn’t particularly worried. He could hide out here in the hypocaust for days if necessary, and he’d done it before. It wasn’t likely that any soldier would crawl in after him. 

He was caught off guard, however, by the sounds of a match being lit. In the dungeons, echoing softly through the hypocaust, they were lighting a fire. Within minutes, the tunnels would be filled with hot air and smoke. Even a witcher needed oxygen from time to time. Geralt cursed silently, squeezing through a small gap and into the space of a chimney, running parallel to the hypocaust. There was already a fire lit into the hearth below, although thankfully only a small one, and he had no choice but to go upwards. The heat was rising but the air was not yet choking him. 

He couldn’t go all the way to the roof, however, as the Queen had no doubt posted guards there. It was an obvious first place to escape to, so it wouldn’t do for his purposes. He came upon a place where two chimneys met and climbed down the second one, deeper into the smoke that had settled in the space. His eyes were watering, his breathing was ragged, and he moved his shirt over his nose in an attempt to give himself more fresh air. It wasn’t very successful. 

He continued climbing until he found a series of chimneys, listening intently through the sounds of the fire around him for one that would aid him the most - hopefully someone important enough that they wouldn’t bother waking him in the dead of night. He knew that the daughter of the emperor had visited for a few weeks, and hoped that her room was not still vacant. At last, he discovered what he was looking for, dropping silently into a cold fireplace, pausing crouched on the floor as he listened.

The room was empty save for a sleeping man in the bed, but there were feet shuffling in the hallway. No doubt waiting for him to just walk right into their swords. No, he turned towards the window and opened it slowly. Below him was a thick road that wrapped around the entire palace, lined on either side with hedges and flowers. He hauled himself over the edge, climbing his way down the wall, thankful for the small gaps between the brick that made this possible. He heard a shout from the rooftops and climbed faster. 

The Queen’s Guard, sitting in the heart of the city and surrounded by an evolved industrial system that had no equal on the continent, was different from other palace guards by one thing: the queen had outfitted them with handguns. They were hard to aim, but a stray bullet to the shoulder would make him easy to hunt down through the city streets. As soon as he reached an unlocked window he swung his way inside, moving through without looking at the room around him. He knew it was empty, and that’s what mattered. 

He dove into the hallway, hoping to get ahead of the search party before they could make their way down several flights of stairs to where he was. He had dressed the evening previous as an Aedirnian servant, but there was no way the guards wouldn’t recognize him now that they knew where he was. Especially not since he was covered practically head to toe in soot from the chimneys. 

He attempted to make his way through the hallways and down to the ground floor where he would be able to exit, but almost every turn found him face to face with soldiers. It escalated to the point where despite his speed they were right behind him, and a few instances found him pushing himself off of the wall and vaulting over their heads. Eventually, he shouldered through a door that led him into a courtyard, and he sprinted across the parapet, the faster soldiers right on his heels. He didn’t slow down as he approached the edge of the wall, bracing his foot against it and pushing himself into the open air. 

He landed on the nearest rooftop heavily, stumbling a little as he crossed it and jumped down to the next. It seemed that he was ahead of them, but he wasn’t going to relax until he was out of the city. He zig-zagged his way through the intersecting streets, hoping to lose them. He could hear howling behind him, and his heart sunk. He wouldn’t be able to hide from dogs. He sped up. 

He made it, finally, to the outside wall of the city, not slowing down as he slid through the mud at the base, detaching a sewer grate and crawling through the muck there. He’d spent three days removing a portion of the metal bars so that he could get in and out without being seen, and had been using it consistently for months without being caught. He tried to slide the grate back into place, hoping that the dogs would only throw their weight against it and further secure it, before slipping out the other side. He was face to face with a grove of trees, probably apples, although he had yet to visit when the fruit was ripe. 

The space between the trees was even, and he kept his eyes on the ground in search of roots that could trip him up, and therefore did not see the shadow coming closer to him. His head slammed into it at full force, and his feet kept moving, sending him sprawling onto his back. He could only see white for a moment, and any movement sent a wave of nausea through him. His vision cleared after a moment, and he could see what it was that had impeded his escape. A board, nailed at his exact head height between two trees. He rolled over, gagging on the contents of his stomach as he attempted to stand. He reached for the steel dagger at his thigh, a large hunting dog slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground. 

*** 

Yennefer watched from just beyond the city wall, listening to the loud whoops of victory from the soldiers she had stationed in the grove, and the braying of dogs. She was wearing riding pants and looking very regal from atop her horse. They presented the thief to her like a prized pig, and she said nothing as one of her mages came forward to drape him in enchanted chains. She’d had them specially made, even going so far as to carve the face of a wolf into them.

The cuts on his face and his broken nose were already healing, she assumed along with the bites and scratches on his arms and legs from the dogs. But his eyes were hazy and unfocused, and she counted that as a victory. No doubt that major concussions weren’t so easy to stitch back together. 

“It’s good to see you again, Geralt,” She said casually. 

“It’s always a pleasure,” He replied, voice light, letting his head droop to his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut. She smiled, turning to the Captain of her Guard, who was astride another horse next to her. 

“Vilgefortz,” She commanded. “Please see the White Wolf of Kaer Morhen to his rooms. I don’t want him to move a muscle.” He nodded in understanding, snapping a couple of instructions to the soldiers around him as she turned to ride away, back to the comfort of her palace. 

Once she’d made it into her rooms and sent away her attendants, she settled next to the hearth in thought. Her hand came up to twist at the short necklace she always wore, considering the events that were likely to occur in the coming weeks. No doubt Kaedwen would hear about the thief’s transgressions - she was certain that they’d sent him purposefully into her palace. Maybe they would plead for his life or at least a quick death. 

“I see you’ve managed it,” came a voice from behind her. Yennefer didn’t so much as flinch. 

“That I have,” she said, smiling ruefully. “After so many months.”

“Be cautious. Mean no offense.”

The diplomatic party arrived within the week. Yennefer had welcomed them into her throne room, perched atop the elegant chair that had been hers since the day of her husband’s death. Her face held no emotion as she watched them enter and make their pleas, unsurprised to see Rennes leading them. For any other monarch to show their face on this occasion would be insanity, but the neatly dressed witcher was never one for convention. He knew that if they were to take this opportunity to kill him, it would be nothing but a ripple in Kaedwenian politics as they attempted to choose who would replace him. And witchers were so congenial. 

After a few thinly veiled insults on her behalf, Rennes cut to the chase. For the first time, he was wearing his swords on his back instead of having gone without. He had even gone so far as to wear armor, something she knew he had not donned in almost a century. 

“We’re willing to offer a hefty sum in exchange for the White Wolf,” He offered, his hands crossed in front of him, flanked on either side by two big and burly witchers from the school of the Bear. Aptly named. 

Yennefer pretended to think about it for a moment before declining, not so much as shifting in her chair. She was angry, furious even, at the treatment, and the petty attempts at winning her favor. “His offenses against my court were personal. They cannot be excused by mere ransom.” She said with a wave of her hand. 

“Ah, forgive me, Your Majesty. I did not realize you were so fortunate as to pass on a bit of gold,” Rennes said nonchalantly, and Yennefer’s eyes turned to slits. “In that case, it is the desire of the entire Kaer Morhen executive council that I inform you of this: until Geralt, the White Wolf and Thief of Kaer Morhen, is released from his bonds, the Hertch Reservoir will remain closed.” He said it matter-of-factly, and Yennefer had to work to keep her mask. Without the river, which started in the Kaer Morhen Valley and flowed through Aedirn, the crops near the border would not last the summer. Not only would people starve, but Yennefer would have no money to pay her soldiers with. The idea that they believed she could be so easily played into just letting him go pissed her off.

She waved a hand towards some soldiers standing nearby, and they disappeared through a side door. A couple of minutes later they returned, dragging Geralt with them. He had healed for the most part at this point, although the cuffs on his wrists were tight enough that his hands were pale from the lack of blood flow. His feet attempted to gain purchase on the stone floor as they stopped, and he wavered slightly. He remained concussed, even as his physical wounds had healed, allowing the guards to push him to his knees.

Rennes did not smile in reassurance, hardly even looked at him, his jaw set like stone. Geralt turned his gaze to the throne upon hearing Yennefer’s voice. 

“Your Premier has made some interesting offers for you, Wolf. A generous ransom, which I have declined. You’re like a dog who will not learn its lesson no matter how much it’s been kicked. I’d only have to waste my time chasing you down again.” She was staring at him intently, her head cocked slightly to the side. “He then informed me that the waters of the Gwenllech will not flow until you’re released. Any thoughts?” She waited until he looked up at her, slowly standing and coming closer to him so that she may more clearly see the look on his face. 

His features were impassive, but his eyes held a wave of emotion. She smirked slightly; he was afraid, and she assumed his fear lay in whatever fate she was going to choose for him. It was the only answer she needed. 

His eyes wandered over her in turn, taking in the sight of her elegant dress and the crown on her head. Her hair was pinned up and loose around her shoulders, with skin almost untouched by the sun, she was so pale. He had forgotten after all his time running from her and living in her dungeons just how beautiful she was, even now as she towered above him. Cruel, yet beautiful. A poisonous flower. 

Geralt gave her a small, concussed smile. A rare look found in a court full of lies, the only expression she had seen in months that wasn’t laced with layer upon layer of pretend kindness and hostility. It angered her more than anything said to her by Rennes, and she struck him with the back of her hand. He didn’t do anything to move away, his head dropping to his chest as a fresh cut on his cheek opened up.

Rennes cleared his throat, and when she turned to look the witchers were stiff. If their weapons had been at their hips, she was certain they would be grasping the hilts. She waved a hand, ascending the steps to the throne again, practically stomping her feet. 

“Hang him. Take him out now and hang him. We’ll see if the Gwenllech flows.” She sat down heavily, and the soldiers moved to do as they were told. Rennes kept his eyes on the ground, as did Geralt. There were murmurs from her court, and she ignored them in favor of commenting to the person sitting on her left, next to the throne. 

“Not even a witcher can hold the waters of a river back forever. If they wait long enough, the dam will overflow, drowning Ard Carraigh in their own stupidity.” She informed him, and he nodded sagely. It was a stupid threat that only served to anger her.

Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, the ambassador visiting from Nilfgaard, had leaned forward slightly, placing a hand on her elbow. “Perhaps the intention was not to hold them back indefinitely - but instead to upset you.” He inclined his head towards Geralt, who was being dragged to his feet. The pieces clicked into place, and she stood suddenly, calling out to the guards. 

“Wait.” They did, turning to take their next orders. The Nilfgaard rose as well, coming to stand beside her. 

“I believe the intention is not to save his life, but instead to ensure his quick and painless end,” Cahir added, leaning to whisper it in her ear. Yennefer’s eyes slid over to Rennes, and although his face was expressionless, she already knew it to be true. Despite her general dislike for the ambassador, his interruption here had been a fortuitous one. She motioned for the soldiers to bring Geralt back to the front of the room, sitting back into her throne. 

“I believe I will take some time to consider how I best want to punish your thief,” She said, and with a wave of her hand, Geralt was gone again. “No need to worry, my Lord,” She said to Rennes. She expected him to be slightly disappointed, considering how close he had come to achieving his goal. “I will inform the Kaer Morhen council once I’ve made my decision.” 

The envoy was shown out of the room, and Yennefer leaned back into her chair. “A pity about the ransom. Here on this coast, there are plenty of uses for a bit of gold.”

The Nilgaardian hummed, a sly smile on his face. “Allow me, then. A gift from my emperor as a show of the relationship between our two kingdoms.” He stood, bowing before her, and she smiled thinly.

***

Days later, Geralt came to discover what she had chosen for him. He was brought into a large room in the dungeon, several intricate devices decorating the walls. The purpose of them was obvious, and he averted his gaze from a particularly nasty table that seemed intended to… stretch its victims. He assumed until death, letting out an easy breath when they led him away from it. He didn’t know what Yennefer was hoping to get out of him, as witchers were not strangers to pain. 

He stopped short when he saw the chair. It was a regular wooden seat, except the arms were much longer than necessary and there were leather straps set in them to hold someone in place at the wrists, ankles, and head. 

He blanched, noticing the marks in the wood, and the bloodstains that had soaked into it. He knew immediately what fate awaited him. He took a step away from it, stopping when he bumped into the chest of a soldier standing behind him. They attempted to force him forwards, and he ducked under their arms, making his way towards the door. They grabbed at him, five men in total hauling him into the chair. He managed to knock one of them out in the process, but as the soldiers tied him to the chair his head slammed against it, causing his eyes to roll backward. His chin drooped for a moment, and Yennefer took a seat across from him as he was strapped in. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was desperate, wasting no time being delirious. “Your Majesty,” He said, insistent. “I’ll serve you. I’ll be your Thief.” Oh, how the tables had turned. He worked his wrists against the straps in an attempt to break them, but he hadn’t eaten in days and was weakened by the magic he'd been encased in. There was a mage standing behind him, ready with a paralyzing curse if necessary. Yennefer didn’t think it would be. 

“What would you steal for me?” She asked softly, her tone almost pitying. 

“Anything. Anything you wanted.” He assured her. 

“And how would I trust you?”

“I’d promise. I’d swear fealty, I’d-” She shook her head, cutting him off. 

“A promise? Geralt… you’re not stupid.” He wasn’t. She reached out and he flinched just barely at her touch, cupping his face softly in her hands. He couldn’t help leaning into it just slightly. “Rennes has accepted my right to hang you,” She informed him. “I am not to flog you to death, hang you upside down from my palace walls, or bind you to a cage in my courtyard and starve you to death. And I agree with him.” Geralt swallowed, his eyes pleading with her, unable to leave her face. “I think we should stick with tradition on this one, and teach you something that you won't be able to forget for as long as you live.” She stood, stepping away from him, and he let out a sick whine at her departure. 

Geralt began to thrash, almost pulling the chair from the bolts holding it to the ground. He was too proud to beg, she knew, as she watched the executioner grab a thin, heavy ax from the wall nearest him. Just like she knew how much more effective this would be than killing him. 

The ax came down in a heavy swing, the right armrest stopping the downward arc with a loud _thunk_ , his hand disappearing behind it. 

Geralt’s whole body jerked, turning his gaze away, finally stilling his movements. His face was paling, but he made no sound. 

Her voice came to him, soft as though far away. “Geralt… Have I exceeded past my right as Queen? Have I offended the Gods?” He let out the faintest of whispers in reply. No. No, she has not offended the gods. 

“Now, tell me, Thief. What can you steal with one hand?” 

“Nothing.”

***

_My Most Affectionate and Dashing White Wolf,_

_It has been a dreadful few months without any mention of you, neither in the gossip I hear coming from court nor from our mutual friends who have since visited. It has been many months since you were here last, and it pains me to say that I am much more unhappy than I was on the day you left. I long to see you, as there is nothing else that has thus far brought me comfort since being back home._

_Alfred Pankratz, my father, and the King’s brother-in-law, is unhappy with the ample opportunities being at court provides me with to ruin our reputation. Despite my insistence that any romantic rendezvous with some specific courtiers were to be singular occurrences at most, he denied my pleas to remain on the continent. Thus explains the shipment of my person off the coast of Redania to our ancestral home in Lettenhove._

_Either he does not know that you’re like to reach me wherever I am, or he does not care._

_I have also, since seeing you last, managed to shirk another tutor, by no fault of my own. The newest one is a most vile man, and I am certain you would be aghast to discover his treatment of me. His poetry is soulless and more often than not contains rather obvious and distasteful rhyme schemes. He attempted to convince me that ‘burn’ rhymed with ‘horn’ and when I refused to yield he rapped my knuckles with a ruler._

_My father has come to visit a handful of times, although never staying longer than a day. After I am finished with this much more pressing correspondence, I will be writing to inform him of my successes in both my verbal studies and my physical ones, of which I can assure you I will exaggerate immensely and with abandon._

_I am sure you have heard rumors by now of the war, as I have. I can only hope that is what has kept you busy, as Kaedwen began seizing Aedirnian trade caravans only a few short weeks ago. Redania fairs no better, as my Uncle is crushing rebellions all over the country-side; my father assures me that they are nothing to worry about, but will not tell me much. I expressed that I felt useless being tucked away like a fragile pot, not even on the mainland. To which my father explained that he would prefer if I were to not die in the meantime and tragically ruin our family’s chances of one day replacing the royal family. As though that would be the only downside of my passing._

_I have heard some news that my dearest uncle has been courting a noble from Kaedwen, the poor dear. My mother has informed me not to become too excited at the prospect of his being married and losing my path to the throne, but with every update from the mainland, I can see our future together becoming more and more possible, if not turbulent from the war. I wonder sometimes if it counts as treason to leave a country and never return? I look forward to once again sharing a bed with you in the safety and comfort that can be found only in the court of Kaer Morhen, fully surrounded by your beautiful family._

_I hope that you will join me in my cozy prison in time for the Midsummer festival a few long weeks from now. There is not enough time for you to write and decline the invitation, so I expect to see you then, as you are certain not to do anything that would disappoint me. There happens to be some beautiful scenery all along the island, and I’m certain with your skills we will be able to sneak away for a short camping trip. My time here has made me long for those nights spent around the campfire those many months ago, and the chance to be by your side once again without the worry of our stations is as appealing to me as it was when I met you. Oh come, my white wolf, and whisk me away from my duties, as you know my bag is always packed for the day you decide to run away with me as we talked about in the Aedirnian wilderness._

_My tutor, the bastard, is now yelling from outside. No doubt wondering why it is that I am hiding away in our barn instead of practicing my oratory skills. I am sure you know more than most just how I shall not need any more learning in the art. I think if he were to see how lovingly I craft these for you, he might go easy on my punishment, but I will assure that this is on its way to you before I reveal myself to him._

_Allow me to provide you with a respite from my familial troubles with a few lines of my recent work, so that they may keep your spirits - among other things - elevated until our next correspondence;_

_I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;  
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:  
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,  
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie._

_Despite my ever-increasing annoyance and aggravation with my situation and the empty hole you have left behind, I remain always and truly,_

_Your Most Affectionate, Talented, Exceptional, and Humble Sweetheart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are always welcome (and encouraged)! You can find me on Tumblr at: [i-am-a-blobfish](https://i-am-a-blob-fish.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: drug use, nightmares, depression, talking about the potential death of a main character

_Wolf,_

_I cannot be certain that this letter will make it into your hands safely, nor when it will arrive. I wish only to inform you that many things have changed since I last wrote to you three weeks ago. You have no doubt heard that the civil war in Redania has become unignorable, and I can confirm that those reports are entirely accurate. I am back on the mainland now, not necessarily by choice, but I am alive._

_I am unable to reveal much in this letter should it fall into the wrong hands. Even though Redania is fighting on all fronts, even with Kaedwen, I remember my time spent in the Keep fondly and am assured that if I can find a way to the border I will find safety. I believe I will first venture to find my father or my uncle, as I fear for them constantly. I have heard that the Pontar has been closed to all trade caravans for over a month and that knowledge has worried me greatly since the day I became aware of it._

_I have passed through many hands, but at the moment I assure you that I am safe and well-cared for by a lovely girl named Emily, who has promised to send this out in the morning. I do not know what my next step will be, or when we will next see each other. You, my sweet, are the north star leading me home, and I, the weary vagabond, will always travel where it is you lead. I hope to always remain,  
Yours._

***

In his dreams, he can see her in the garden. She’s wearing a green dress that glides all the way down to her bare feet, her back crooked in an almost painful way. She’s smiling so wide and happy, dancing among the flowers, alone. And then he hears howling in the distance.

Suddenly, he’s jumping and running. There are dogs snapping at his heels and tearing at his skin. And then he’s tied down to a chair, and the sword comes down onto his wrist- 

And she’s still there, in the garden. Watching him.

He wakes up screaming. 

***

Vesemir sat in the room adjacent to Geralt’s. The old witcher was tired, and he looked around at the others who had remained at the post to ascertain whether he would need to send anyone else to their own rooms. Every day and night there were two witchers posted at Geralt’s doorway and anyone who wanted to volunteer was added to the list. It seemed almost everyone was interested in doing their part to protect the white wolf, as though they believed Aedirn would come for him directly.

Even those witchers who Geralt had never gotten along with signed up to be considered for the watch - Letho, who had fought the most often with Geralt when they were boys. Coen, who was always flaunting his new Gwent cards and was the most likely to find them missing. They were all more than willing to take shift after shift, and do whatever they could to make themselves useful. 

The loss of the wolf's antics, which had become common during the eleven years he’d been isolating himself, was felt by every witcher on and off the path. Even the trainees, who were only children, felt a difference and worked harder on their exercises as though he would hear about it and become inspired.

They all wanted revenge for what had been done to one of their own.

Tonight, it was Eskel and a viper named Serrit on either side of the door. At first, Eskel and Lambert had insisted on spending every night in this room. The latter only lasted one night, however. When Geralt had awoken, thrashing and screaming, it had taken all of them to hold him onto the bed. One person had to cover his nose and another had to pour a drug into his mouth to help him sleep. It was never easy, and often took a couple of attempts before he was relaxing into the mattress. 

After that first time, Lambert had turned white as a sheet, running from the tower as fast as he was able. Vesemir couldn't blame him. He hadn’t so much as even stepped foot at the bottom of the stairs that led to the tower where Geralt slept. He didn’t ask for any updates directly but listened intently whenever his brother came up in conversation.

Eskel had remained resolute, staying up three nights straight meditating on the floor in the hallway. Vesemir had chastised him on the fourth morning and sent him away. Eskel convinced his teacher to let him come back, on the condition that he would only do so every other night. But neither brother left the mountain for any reason, and rarely ventured into the surrounding forests for longer than a few hours.

Vesemir wasn’t much better, sleeping in short chunks and attending the ever more frequent council meetings. Any time that he had free was spent here in this chair. Fighting with that damn boy just so he’d sleep. Geralt was healing well physically, but he hadn't been able to recognize anyone during his short bouts of wakefulness. He only attempted to jump from the bed and hide - which if they allowed him to do so it was possible they might never see him again. Geralt, at this point, knew every corner of the fortress like the back of his hand, and once you lost sight of him it would be impossible to find him again quickly. 

Triss Merigold, the court sorceress, wanted his arm to heal first before they started trying to reason with his trauma-addled brain; the pain of the healing process was intense as the large wound attempted to knit itself together, not to mention recovering from a major concussion. 

Tonight their sorceress had deigned to join them. She had been checking on him every day, spending a little bit of her magic to heal him. It was a slow process, and she had done a good job holding her own against all of the angry witchers in the keep who didn't understand it wasn't so simple as saying 'abracadabra' with a puff of smoke. 

Vesemir heard a slight shifting of covers, and he was on his feet. Eskel and Serrit were already in the room, their hands on Geralt's arms, holding him tightly to the bed as he screamed. It was an ungodly terrifying noise that chilled them down to their bones.

Geralt's face was pale with fear, and the scent of it was thick in the air. He snarled, scratching and biting anything within reach. The boys had their work cut out for them, and Vesemir didn't envy their positions. When it had first happened, he’d thought it was lucky they were only dealing with one hand. It had sickened him, though, and he found himself wishing that Geralt was able to grab at them with his right hand. If only so things were normal again. 

Vesemir ignored the thrashing figure on the bed as he grabbed the potion Triss had left for them, putting a few drops into Geralt’s mouth before clamping a hand over his face tightly. Triss had come to stand at the doorway with a pitying look in her eyes, watching as Geralt bit Vesemir’s hand and spit the elixir onto the floor. After the third time, she’d had enough of the back and forth, taking a couple of steps into the room to better gain their attention. 

“Geralt!” She snapped, her voice loud to be heard over the shuffling. “Swallow the damn potion.” The wolf's eyes were wide with recognition, and he immediately did as she ordered. He stared at her, breathing heavily, the thrashing coming to a stop as he took in the sight of her.

“Triss?” He asked, voice breaking, and her composure almost collapsed with the weight of it. 

“Stop being an ass and go to sleep.” He closed his eyes obediently, and everyone cautiously loosened their grip on his arms.

It was the most he’d spoken to anyone in over a week, and the first person he’d been able to recognize. 

Vesemir turned to the sorceress with a grateful smile on his face, patting Serrit on the shoulder as he passed and leading the younger witchers from the room. Hopefully, Geralt would sleep deeply for a couple of hours, and if they were lucky he would do so without any dreams breaking up his rest. 

***

Triss had taken to being around his room more after that evening. A part of it was selfish - she'd missed him dearly, and wanted to be around her friend again. 

She and Geralt had been acquaintances since he was a child and her only just starting in Kaer Morhen. Since Blaviken, they’d quickly become favorites of one another. Being a part of the Kaedwenian court was unlike any post in the world, as the sorceress posted there served only as an advisor when it came to political matters. In normal courts that would be easy - a whisper in the ear of a single monarch was enough to turn the tides. But convincing a majority of witchers, who all had equal votes on the future of the country? Impossible for an outsider. Even though she’s lived among them for over a century they still expected her to turn on them at any moment and reveal their secrets to the highest bidder. 

But they needed her more than they distrusted her, as the main job of the court sorceress was perfecting precious potion recipes, training new alchemists, and overseeing the trial of the grasses every other year. 

That was the main downside to her position, other than being surrounded by aggressive men whose idea of a good time was gambling and fighting each other half to death. Triss had spent years bullying the executive council into allowing more non-mutant nobility to live in the keep year-round, and under her careful tutelage, the court had grown to half-way resemble something they could use to their political advantage. 

Geralt had come to her a few weeks after his expedition with Dijkstra to talk about creating a small shrine to Adon somewhere in the keep. She had helped him put something together eagerly. Now, in the main council room on the far wall was an intricate carving in the stone, as well as a bit of space for candles and offerings. Not many were doing any sort of worship or praying, and for a time it seemed that only Geralt put any effort towards it. She never actually saw him in front of the shrine, but every so often there would be a new offering at its base - little trinkets, jewelry, or expensive Gwent cards - all things he'd stolen from people who were getting on his nerves. 

Since the white wolf's capture in Aedirn, new offerings had increased ten-fold as other witchers lay weapons, coins, or small vials of potions on the altar. She didn't think there were any new believers in the keep, just witchers who didn't know what else to do with their anxieties. She’d even caught one or two people praying. There was nothing in the world more terrifying than a witcher who felt so helpless that he’d fall to his knees. She’d turned around and left the room immediately, feeling nauseous.

There was one memory she recalled with great fondness as he slept soundly in his bed. At the time she had just spent a few hours complaining about an assistant that had handled her money incorrectly - seemingly losing about four hundred ducats during a transaction with a shopkeeper. Geralt suggested, in his usual gruff tone, that she rehome the assistant with someone else, and hire him instead. 

“You? Handle my money? I’m certain I wouldn’t have any left as you’d rob me blind to pay off your Gwent debts.” Coen was merciless. Geralt had scoffed in offense, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I would never rob you,” He defended himself, and she’d laughed. 

“Oh? Where is my emerald necklace? My earrings that were gifts from that roguishly handsome sailor?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“The necklace was hideous, I was just trying to save your reputation in court. Our country translates to the white forest for a reason.” He said, as though the answer were obvious, gesticulating with abandon throughout her workshop and narrowly missing a stack of empty vials.

“And my earrings?”

“What earrings?”

She’d thrown him out, laughing despite how annoyed she’d been when her jewelry had gone missing. She wished he would wake up and annoy some more people - she wanted to hear him laugh again, or listen to his snarky comments from down the dinner table. Her eyes moved back and forth from his missing hand to his face, leaning forward to heal him just a little bit more. 

***

Vesemir was there the next time Geralt awoke, and thankfully he did so slowly. There was no fear in the air this time, only confusion and the quick pattering of a heartbeat. Vesemir would never get used to the sound of the young wolf's anguished screams - the type of sounds that he’d never heard a fully grown witcher make before. It made him sick from listening to it. He leaned forward to catch Geralt's eye, gripping the bottle of potion in his hands tightly, happy to see that his gaze was clear. 

“Vesemir?” Geralt asked, only slightly slurring his words, which was a far cry from being dumped unconscious on the base of the mountain. 

“Pup,” Vesemir said softly. “You’re alright, now - don’t move. Just tell me what you remember.”

“She knew I was there,” Geralt’s voice was low, speaking after a brief pause as though he was afraid to be loud. “She knew where I was hiding, she knew how I’d get out of the city. She knew everything. I’m sorry.” Geralt closed his eyes, squeezing them shut tight for a moment before opening them. When he did, Vesemir saw only the little boy that he’d trained many, many years ago. His heart twisted in his chest.

“We shouldn’t have sent you,” Vesemir said, waving his hand as though it was that easy to rid him of his worries. Geralt shook his head insistently. 

“No, no. I made mistakes. I keep… I’m trying to think it through and remember. I just don’t know where I went wrong. I failed you, I failed Rennes. I failed the council-” Geralt looked ready to cry, and Vesemir did not know what to do. “I’m _sorry_ , Vesemir.”

“Please Geralt-” Vesemir put his head in his hands, taking a few deep breaths before straightening again. “Stop. I didn’t mean to upset you,” He lifted the potion as though to use it. 

“You’re not I just-” Geralt seemed to deflate, turning his head to look at the wall. “It’s good to see that you care. She doesn’t show it on her face as we do. She just… sits. If she’s angry, she sits. If she’s sad, she sits. I think if she was ever happy, she’d just sit.” This seemed to take a lot out of him, and his eyes slipped closed again. Vesemir stood, listening as his heart started to beat evenly, moving to the window to try and level his head. That’s when Geralt spoke again. 

“She was within her rights,”

Vesemir started at the words, keeping himself from turning around. “Absolutely not.” His voice was hard. 

“It’s a common punishment for thieves.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They haven’t chopped a hand off a thief in Aedirn for a hundred years. It doesn’t matter anyway, you’re a favored member of the council. A voting member of the wolf school. She attacked all of Kaedwen with one action. We can’t ignore it.” He said, his tone creating no space for argument. But, like always, Geralt somehow managed it against all odds. 

“We had no business in her palace,” Geralt whispered, and when Vesemir turned to look at him he saw that the man’s eyes were still closed. He might as well have been arguing with a ghost. 

“She has no business inviting Nilfgaard into her court.” He paused, sitting back down into the chair beside the bed, listening as Geralt’s breathing evened out. Finally asleep without the help of a drug. “It was unforgivable. And she’s going to be sorry.”

***

The nightly watches at Geralt’s side came to an abrupt end as soon as he was lucid enough to be aware of their presence.

On the one hand, it meant he was getting better. Nightmares were no less frequent, but he managed them on his own. Vesemir wasn't certain of it, but he suspected that he was still waking in the middle of the night and taking potions to put himself back to sleep. It was better than biting and thrashing like a rabid dog about to be put down.

Geralt insisted that they all leave the adjoining rooms and not come back unless they were asked for. Not many words were spoken in parting, and the witchers at the door had kicked and grumbled their way down the stairs. It didn't seem that the white wolf really cared. There was plenty for them to do around the keep without intruding on his privacy - which really meant that he was not interested in anyone trying to sympathize or pity him. 

For weeks, there was no sight of him. Rumor had it that food was being sent back to the kitchens uneaten, and even Triss couldn't manage to get through into his bedroom, instead leaving fresh potions and books on the floor. Eskel was starting to become worried with every updated whisper from cooks and attendants, and threw himself into the tasks assigned to him. 

Then, one day, he'd had enough of leaving Geralt to be depressed and alone. It came to a head in the last days of the summer - Eskel and Lambert were loath to miss out on the warm weather for training, and had been in the courtyard for a few hours. One minute they were sparring and the next Lambert was using Aard to push him across the courtyard with abandon. 

Eskel had stood quickly, snarling in anger as he whirled on his brother before his eyes landed on the space between them. There, shattered on the hard stone, were two daggers. One silver and one steel. As he watched from the safe distance Lambert had repelled him to, they were joined by two longswords. Eskel looked up at the window to Geralt's room, his eyes narrowing in anger. 

"What the fuck does he think he's doing?" He growled, hunching his shoulders, and balling his fists, stalking into the keep without a second thought. Destroying his weapons? Not only was it blasphemous, but Geralt was ignoring the hard work that had gone into crafting them. If he didn't want them, the least he could do was give them to someone who would use them-

Eskel shouldered through the bedroom door, his anger deflating as he saw the state of the room. Geralt had thrown his armor to the ground as well as several belts and shoes. The writing desk against the wall was a mess, littered with balled up sheets of parchment and spilled ink. On the heart of the fireplace sat a variety of alchemy items, halfway through the production process. 

The man himself was sat on the floor under his window, holding his knees to his chest and burying his face in them. Eskel decided that he was _not_ crying, ignoring the slight shake of his shoulders, inching closer, and kneeling down. 

"It would be a shame if Vesemir saw this mess. I can envision fifty laps on the Killer as punishment." He teased, reaching out to nudge Geralt's leg. 

"It'll be the only punishment that I'm capable of." Geralt's voice was thick with unsung emotion.

"That's not true. I heard they need a new practice dummy for the trainees - it would certainly save Barmin a few hundred ducats." Geralt snorted, lifting his head to meet Eskel's eyes. There were no tears - but his face was red and puffy. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

"It's this _fucking_ thing-" Geralt shifted, revealing the sling that held his right arm to his chest. "-as soon as I think I'll go outside… well, now I have to put pants on. Then a shirt. Then shoes. Then I have to tie my laces. Or a belt." Geralt ducked his head, ashamed. "Everything takes me twice as long, and I have to relearn every action. Even walking down the stairs, I wouldn't be able to hold onto the handrail. Of all things to be worried about, right?" He asked, sniffing a little bit, and Eskel sighed. 

"I don't envy your trouble, brother. I've never known you to give up, though. I think there are worse things than this." After Blaviken, Geralt had secluded himself. But he had done so in the wilderness for months before coming back to the keep, not coming out for food or shelter. Eskel had assumed that he was too afraid to face the council. He hated to think that once again his brother was isolating because he couldn't face himself, much less his family. 

Geralt laughed bitterly, tilting his head back against the stone. "Death would have been easier." It sounded hollow, yet certain. "Do you think if you lose a hand while you’re alive that you'll get it back in the afterlife?" He asked, turning to stare at Eskel, seriously waiting for an answer.

Eskel's stomach flipped. 

"I'm not talking to you about death, alright? You're going to be fine, and neither of us will have to worry about that for another hundred years." He couldn't help the tone of his voice, snapping at his brother in his attempt to pound it into his head. "Death would have been so much fucking harder."

Geralt sighed as if he had been expecting that answer, slipping his eyes shut. Eskel was quiet before continuing. 

"I know you think you have to do this on your own - but listen. Rennes told me about this guy he knew once, this craftsman. People lose limbs all the time - this guy can craft… replacements." Geralt was silent. "We've already got him working on a couple of pieces for you. Just look at them when Rennes brings him around, alright? And think about it." Geralt didn't so much as nod, but Eskel knew he was listening. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Geralt began, slowly. “About going away for a while. Studying something useful…” Eskel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “There are a couple of university’s - Oxenfurt. I could wear a glamour.”

“You want to leave Kaer Morhen? Why?”

“Nehaleni visited me in a dream last night,” Geralt said softly, not looking at him. It wasn’t a secret that the veil was thinner for Geralt than other people, but that knowledge didn’t help the shocked look that crossed Eskel’s face. “Stop whining.” Geralt quoted, finally looking at his brother. “For me, alone among mortals, the gods send their message to tell me to stop whining. Here I was, thankful to be alive.”

“I guess you have been sulking… What have you been up here doing? Practicing your handwriting?” Eskel asked, and Geralt’s eyes dipped back down to his trousers. 

“I haven’t heard from Jaskier in a little while. I don’t want him to know something is wrong when I write him back,” Geralt’s voice was soft, slightly embarrassed. 

Eskel sighed, not surprised by Geralt’s mindset, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “University…. It might have been a good idea, honestly. You could have come back and helped Triss or something.”

“Might have?” Geralt asked, confused. “Why not now?”

"Oh, uh. I guess… I guess they've been keeping you in the dark about some stuff." Eskel cleared his throat. "We've been at war. For months now." _Ever since they left you at the base of our mountain_. 

Geralt let out a soft exhalation, listening intently as Eskel filled him in. 

***

Once he'd had the full story, Geralt stormed through the fortress looking for the Premier. He found him in the council room, surrounded by other older witchers and deep in conversation. He didn't care, stalking towards him and practically throwing an older cat out of the way. 

"You started a war in my name without telling me?" He yelled, not caring who heard him. Rennes did not look surprised, only tired. He finished giving his orders without looking in Geralt's direction, dismissing the warriors before turning his attention to the wolf. 

"It's nice to see you out of your room, White Wolf." He said, clasping his hands behind his back and walking slowly around the room, allowing Geralt to stalk angrily next to him. "How lovely to see you for the first time in months."

"Are we at war with Aedirn?" Geralt growled, not having any patience for diplomacy. Rennes nodded. "And Redania?" Rennes shrugged. 

"It's certainly a matter of time, if they can get their head on a swivel." He was too calm, and Geralt didn't like it. He grabbed at Rennes' shoulder, jerking him to a stop so that he would be forced to look at him. "You've been seeing all the signs of war, but you didn't want to acknowledge them. I hope you coming to find me means you’ve decided it’s time to put your brain to good use. You’ve been holed up in your room… recopying scrolls and poetry… I want you to take your time, but those things don’t matter right now." He should have sounded angrier, or more righteous in his convictions. But he didn't.

"It matters-" Geralt exclaimed, gesticulating wildly. "-because I only have one fucking hand, and it's not even the right one!" His voice boomed in the large space, sending many pairs of eyes in their direction. "I wouldn't have asked you to do this."

"It's a good thing you didn't then. The decision went through the council before we acted on it, and if there is someone who disagrees fully then he hasn't made himself known." Rennes stared at him, looking for something in his eyes, and he paused. "We've already lit many pyres these past couple of months." Geralt froze.

"Who?" He asked, his throat dry. 

"Varin, Sorel," He paused, his eyes flicking away. "Coen." Geralt was going to be sick, and he channeled that energy into anger.

"I'm fucking sick of you deciding what is right and wrong for me - and our people are dying because of it." Geralt declared, pointing a finger in Rennes' face, although the Premier was unbothered. 

"Are you finished being angry with me, pup?" Rennes asked, and the endearment deflated all of Geralt’s anger. "Good, because I need something of you." He began walking again, as though unable to keep still. He could not hold Geralt's eyes for longer than a few seconds. 

“What possible use could you have for a one-handed former thief?” Geralt muttered, his eyes downcast as he stared as his right arm.

“You’re not a former thief; you’re still the Thief of Kaer Morhen. As long as the fortress stands, you're loyal to it.” Rennes was always matter-of-fact. Geralt hated it.

“All right," He yielded unhappily. "What do you want a useless one-handed Thief for?” Geralt said bitterly. 

“I want you not to be useless.” 

“I can’t steal things without two hands. That’s why she cut one off.” It was unnecessary for Geralt to explain who he was talking about. 

“There are a lot of things that a person with two hands couldn’t steal,” Rennes said simply. “Surely if it’s impossible to steal them with two hands, it’s no more impossible to steal them with one. Steal peace, Geralt. Steal me some time.” His voice was sincere, finally holding his gaze, finally revealing what he had been hiding inside of it. 

Guilt.

***

The council room of Kaer Morhen was large, but not necessarily elaborate. It was built to house warriors comfortably, and give them space to relax in the evenings. It was the only room big enough to hold meetings with the large number of witchers that decided to be active in the politics of the country. Behind the raised stage was a large balcony - with the weather turning cold, the use of it had died off significantly. Rennes didn't mind the cold, indulging in the moments when he was able to have some time alone. 

Nor was he unhappy with the company he decided to keep in the rare moment of quiet he was afforded. Barmin reached over and refilled their glasses, settling down the jug and bringing his own to his lips. 

"Suppose we should call Vesemir to come get his pup?" He asked, although he did not sound worried. 

"There are many witchers in this keep who would wait in line to drag the white wolf by the scruff of his neck. We would do better to start selling off the rights and give Ves a break from taking the responsibility." Rennes was equally relaxed, reaching for his glass but only holding it. 

"I'll give you fifty ducats that he'll fall." 

Rennes smiled proudly. "I'll take it." There was a superstition Geralt had told him about during the first couple years of his training after Blaviken. A thief never falls unless they're supposed to.  
There was a bit of a poetic irony in the statement, as witchers often believed the same thing about their own deaths. "There's something different about him." 

"Aye, I guess losin a limb would do that. If he were anyone else he'd have either died or been stuck as a sentry for the rest of his life. Or worse yet, in any other court, married off for political gain." Barmin shook his head. Witchers didn't often get married - there wasn't even a tradition for it, nor records kept by the Kaedwinian government. Temples might keep records, especially the newer ones. But most of the country wasn't too worried about it. It explained some of why their neighbors believed them to be savages. 

"You're not wrong, but I mean… for the past eleven years. Since the day he started this training.. I'd say he's blossomed." Rennes paused. "I do think he's meant for bigger things yet, something different than any witcher before him."

Barmin nodded. They had both read Geralt's account of the temple. He had a deeper connection to the world around him, and to the Gods, than anyone since Adon. Everyone could feel it. 

They watched as Geralt clung to the side of the tower about thirty feet above the nearest roof. He was a dark shadow on the wall, visible only to the enhanced senses of a witcher. He had been there for almost twenty minutes contemplating his next move, one arm tight against his chest to keep his balance. He was stuck, but Rennes wasn't worried about his ability to figure his way out. 

They watched as Geralt swung himself, and for one moment he was holding onto nothing at all. Then, he grasped onto a bit of loose stone, and his feet struggled for purchase. Eventually, he was motionless again, preparing the next step. 

***

"So he's alive, then?" She asked, drumming her fingers on the table in front of her, resting her cheek in the palm of her hand. She looked bored, staring at Vilgefortz intently. 

Vilgefortz nodded. "He's alive. He refuses any visitors and the word around the keep is that he's imbibing an exceptional amount of opioids and not enough food." He actually was bored, uncaring about the thief of Kaer Morhen. The witcher was no longer a threat, and there were much bigger issues on the table. But Yennefer wanted updates on his condition, so he gave them. 

She nodded in understanding. It had been as she hoped. They lost a great asset, and the energy in the fortress was sapped. She hadn't really expected the retaliation Aedirn had received. The same day he'd returned, they had confiscated the goods from ten trading caravans, taking everything except for the clothes on their backs and sending them home terrified. 

The dam had been opened and her crops were watered, but it would do no good if she could not sell them across the border in both Kaedwen and Redania. The monetary gift from the Medes would only last so long, and her army needed a reason to remain at their posts. 

She gave them one. 

Only a couple weeks later, words of the missing goods had spread through her ranks, and her captains were eager to do as they were told. They sunk several Kaedwen military vessels out at sea and attacked several outposts along the borders. 

Kaedwen responded by closing the pass, allowing no travel between countries. 

And so things progressed. She hadn't been worried about Redania and was surprised to hear that several of their ships had started raiding private Aedirn vessels and prohibiting trade. 

"I thought they were worried about their own civil war. We can't let this pass without a response," She was tired, and frustrated. "What do they fear from us now? The water is the only way to receive any imports quickly enough."

"Our reports tell us that they blame Aedirn for an attack within Tretogor's harbor. About six drowned vessels, several more in critical condition." Vilgefortz informed her, stiff as stone. "I can assure you no orders left my desk as such, I'm still waiting on some reports back. There's every chance an independent trader wanted to take advantage of the war to receive lower tax on trade. Either way, there is no hope of convincing them we were not behind it, as I’m sure Radovid is too angry to take our word for it."

Every new day held a grim revelation. She was not happy to hear that she was now in the middle of a three-way war. 

Vilgefortz's eyes shifted to the area just above her shoulder, and Yennefer turned in her chair. 

"Sir Ambassador, my apologies, I did not hear you come in." She said, her smile dangerous. "I apologize if you've been waiting long." She wondered how he'd managed to sneak past her guards and attendants. 

"My apologies, Your Majesty. I wanted to invite you to dine with me if you're finished." He said, his smile venomously polite. She nodded, standing and accepting his arm. 

"I suppose we'll have to be. Vilgefortz…” She turned back to him once she was standing. “Are you certain that no orders left your desk?” She asked, and he nodded solemnly. She finally allowed Cahir to lead her out of the room, pretending to listen to his babbling as he did so. 

"Your Majesty, it's regretful that so much of your time is spent in those dreadful meetings of state. A woman of your beauty deserves nothing so much as a bit of relaxation and a ball every now and then." He said, as though that were fact. 

"Ah, yes. So horrible that I must spend my time running my country as its sole regent." He did not hear, or willfully ignored, the humor in her voice, nodding pitifully in her direction. 

"I imagine a second pair of hands would benefit you more than you'd know." They had reached one of his private rooms, and he pulled a chair out for her to sit before doing the same. "That's why my King has sent me to your coast, as an extra set of hands. I want to offer you my help in any way you see fit - like our upcoming battle with Kaedwen. Surely a few thousand more men would not hurt?" He asked innocently, and she politely declined. 

"At your discretion, my Queen. On this topic, however, I wanted to ask if you'd tell me a little bit about our shared enemies - the Kaedwenians, I mean. They have not been as kind as you in allowing diplomatic relations, and have never accepted a Nilfgaardian ambassador as you have. I’m embarrassed to say we don’t know too much about them.”

She smiled in thanks for his kind words. "I suppose you wouldn't be happy to hear that they hide themselves in the mountains for a reason - they are often not good company. You wouldn’t like it in their court, I’m told. They have only ever accepted outside help from Aretuza, and Triss Merigold has been in their court for over a hundred years."

“You’ve visited the famous Kaer Morhen, then?” He asked, and she shook her head. 

“Never. They have embassies in Ard Carraigh, and I visited when I was a child. But very few outsiders are welcome in their fortress.”

"And the ambassador that was sent after their thief - he seemed overly familiar with you. I suppose that speaks to their backward ways?" He asked, and she smiled, humored slightly that he’d noticed. 

"I believe you are referring to Rennes, a witcher of the Wolf School. He is the appointed leader of Kaer Morhen. No, don't worry about any offense. I believe he'd find the mistake laughable."

"You mean to say the ruffian with the threats is their King?" Cahir asked, sounding rather scandalized. “It was awfully rude to appear in court armed as such. Perhaps we should have expected a war from that moment.”

"No, I believe you've been misinformed. Kaedwen has no King. Rennes is one of three heads of state, and they call him their Premier. But he is the closest thing to a king Kaedwen will ever have." She quieted down as their lunch was placed before them before continuing. "But the decision to go to war was voted on by every witcher who wished to cast one, it's a voluntary process. I'm told that it was nearly unanimous." 

The loyalty witchers had amongst themselves was unparalleled, and she did not know how Rennes inspired it amongst such a large body. A part of her was jealous of his ability, despite knowing that if they were humans it would never work.

"Rare that he would come so far for one man, as opposed to sending an ambassador. But his death must not mean much if the rule of their country is spread so thin." Cahir said it slowly, as though he were storing it for use later. The Queen took pleasure in the idea of a duel between Cahir and Rennes, already knowing who would win. 

"It's my understanding that he has a sentimental attachment to the Thief." Yennefer mused. "Witchers are, of course, found as children and taken in. There is an old tradition that when a witcher saves your life, he may request payment by the law of surprise." The trick always was, whenever she'd sought an individual's services, to not allow them the opportunity to request their own payment. "The thief was one such child, and so Rennes is his father by that law." 

Cahir nodded in understanding. "So they are close? He is a favorite of the Premier and likely to take over if he were to die?" Yennefer nodded. 

"Yes. But not due to the circumstances of his birth. I believe that Rennes, in his old age, might consider the young witcher his responsibility more than others. But the council doesn't work like that. If the thief had not proved himself skilled in his trade, there would be no use for him, and he would remain independent as other witchers have in the past." She paused. “I wouldn’t take much notice of that old rumor. If you’re a witcher, you have three hundred brothers and one hundred fathers. They’re not sentimental as we are.”

"And their neighbors - Redania. I assume they have no special government in existence. Radovid is their King." She nodded. "Particularly angry, I understand. Kaedwen has profited off of his expulsion of non-humans from his lands."

"Elves and dwarves hide in their mountains, but that’s alright. The purging drove many mages to Aedirn. In an attempt to find safety under my rule, as a fellow sorceress." It wasn't a fact about her she spoke of often. 

"I understand - having a number of mages in your safekeeping would prove smart if you could control them. They could also be very dangerous if not appeased." Yennefer only smiled, taking a sip of her wine. 

"I can't help but agree, my friend. But a good sorceress knows when to keep her true power a secret." He cut into his meal, nodding although not listening to her. She was fine with that.

***

_Wolf,_

_I have not heard from you, and I only assume that one of our friends has convinced you to take up arms, although I hope that is not the case. There is also every chance that you have not discovered a way to reach me, as I have not been stationary for many weeks._

_If I am never to see you again, I wish for you to know how dear you have been to me. In my hard days, I think of you fondly. I have recently been recalling our short tryst in my uncle's home, sneaking around so as not to encourage his wrath, nor my father’s. I am never so happy nor as safe as I have been in your arms, and I pray that I will get the chance to hold you once again. I hope sincerely to remain,_

_Yours._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are always welcome (and encouraged)! You can find me on Tumblr at: [i-am-a-blobfish](https://i-am-a-blob-fish.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter: discussion of the deaths of main characters

Yennefer greatly preferred to lead her armies as directly as possible. She often traveled around Aedirn to visit fortresses and megarons, and give commands to her captains face to face. She had spent the past week traveling to nearby Gulet - the area sat on a large river that connected to the coast only a few hours away. 

She intended to stay for a few days before traveling on, and had intended to make the journey with only her attendants and select members of her guard. At the last minute, however, the Nilfgaardian Ambassador had insisted he join her. 

"I'd hate to see you surrounded by nothing but brutes until winter. I'm certain I can suffer through the travel if I'm by your side." He'd complimented prettily, and she offered her hand so that he could kiss the back of it. 

"How sweet of you to go through such horrors on my behalf," She'd said, ordering for a horse to be brought for him to ride. 

"And I wouldn't want to be too far away should you feel the need to call for Nilfgaard's assistance," He'd said. She knew about the small fleet of ships he had off her coast, waiting to travel upstream and assist her at any moment. 

The trip was peaceful, and she had the chance to see the countryside at a time that she wouldn't usually be traveling. It was all accompanied by Cahir's constant conversation. There were very little things that he wouldn't improve about Aedirn, and he was certain to tell her about every single one. 

They arrived at last, the trip lasting for the better part of the day. Instead of a warm welcome and an offer of a good meal, the fortress was closed off tight. After being announced and allowed inside, she excused herself from Cahir's company and ordered for Vilgefortz to join her on the wall, expecting an explanation. 

"We've received word that the Kaedwen army has been spotted camped out less than a day's ride away." He told her immediately. "Just before you arrived, these men-" he motioned to the ground below them, where six fully armored soldiers were standing at attention, waiting for orders. "-arrived, stating that the royal messenger they were escorting had been shot down outside of the treeline." 

She turned, looking out over the field in front of her, making out the outline of a body about thirty feet from the trees. Vilgefortz continued. 

"They retrieved his bag and brought it here." He opened it, pulling out the missive that the messenger had died trying to get to the megaron. She read it quickly, looking up at Vilgefortz in surprise. 

"They've got cannons." She said, turning to the trees. Vilgefortz nodded.

"We watched their soldiers drag them up the hill this morning. I didn't see any witchers from here, but-"

"Those cannons will break through these walls like butter," She said, confident in her knowledge that she didn't need to ask. "We'll surrender. Baron Stennis' army is a day south of here, he'll be able to retake it just as quickly if we have time to rally." Vilgefortz did not look surprised. "You understand that I need you to stay here?" She asked, and he nodded. 

"There's a dock hidden below the keep, my Queen. I have a guard posted." She nodded in understanding, turning to descend down the steps and into the courtyard. She wondered for a moment why a messenger hadn't been sent to warn the royal caravan about the incoming invasion but assumed that the Kaedwinian army had dealt with whomever Vilgefortz had sent to warn her. 

She did not see Cahir in the courtyard, but she did not care. Instead, she collected a few essentials from one of her trunks and descended into the basement of the keep. She withdrew from around her neck a key, unlocking the door at the bottom of the steps, not even bothering to grab a torch off the wall in her hurry. 

The guard at the end of the hallway was in full armor, and he straightened quickly when he saw her. If he was surprised by her appearance he did not show it. 

"Get the boat ready," She ordered, and he hurried to accommodate. She stood on the dock as he began to pull the line, bringing the boat back from where it had drifted slightly away. She knew she'd need to come up with some excuses to give Cahir once he managed to get out of Kaedwen captivity or come up with a sum to pay his ransom herself. 

The guard bent at the knee, reaching out over the water to grab the boat. The hook in place of his missing right hand thunked quietly against the wooden hull.

***

"Sir," came a voice at Vilgefortz side, and he turned to look at the soldier standing there. "Let me go collect the body of the messenger - we've traveled together for many months."

Vilgefortz nodded, and the soldier set off. He turned back to watch across the treeline, making out the campfires that had started to pop up, and the bodies walking back and forth between them. 

He looked back down, making note of the small crowd that had formed at the gate, and his brow furrowed. It should not take that many people to go collect one body… he started down the steps in a rage, prepared to give the lieutenant a piece of his mind once they made it back. 

As he stepped onto the ground there were shouts of surprise from up on the wall, and Vilgefortz sped up as he approached the gate, asking what had happened. 

Staring into the twilight, he saw no one on the road. The horsemen and the body of the messenger were gone. 

“The messenger?” he asked, feeling frantic and confused but not yet knowing why.

“Jumped up the moment they got near,” the guard nearest to him said.“No more dead than I am. One of the riders took him up behind, and they rode into the woods.” 

Vilgefortz stared. Five men. The messenger’s guard minus one. “Follow me,” he commanded the nearby guard, taking off running without waiting for a response, heading in the direction that Yennefer had gone.

***

He was different. She could tell it was so despite not being able to see his face. He was stiff despite the surety of his movements, and she knew him well enough to know that it was not anxiety disturbing his peace. 

"You've changed," She said, not allowing the new understanding to reach her voice. 

"So I've been told," he said, straightening and motioning towards the boat with his hook. "Into the boat, Your Majesty." He didn't sound like he was being facetious, in fact he didn't sound like anything. She was reminded of her first months as queen. Her fiance, chosen entirely by her father, used to tease her. He'd told her often that she was as dull and lifeless as a shadow, so that's what he called her. A shadow queen. And that's what Geralt had become, now. A misrepresented image of his former self.

They stared at each other for a moment before she did as he asked, stepping gently into the boat. He offered her a hand to help her down, and she took it reluctantly. 

Once she was sitting, he held the rope firmly in one hand, leading the boat down the dock and deeper into the water. The river pooled here into a large lake before continuing southward towards the capital. There was shouting in the hallway behind them, and he picked up his pace, running a little and jumping into the boat at the last second. He quickly grabbed the rudder, steering away from the keep and towards the center of the lake. 

As they sailed, presumably towards the coast of Kaedwen, she examined him. He was slowly peeling off the plate armor and tossing it into the lake without care. The helmet first, spilling his white hair over his shoulders and revealing his cat eyes to her. She remembered when he'd smiled at her in the throne room before the hand had come off. Now, she thought, she'd probably never see it again. 

The next was the breastplate - she noticed that it wasn't fastened all the way on the left side, and instead of unbuckling it he cut the fabric there with the sharp side of the hook. The bracers were next, and so on. Each piece that landed in the water made her flinch as she imagined the plunge that she would no doubt be taking in just a few minutes. 

"Do you swim, Your Majesty?" He asked conversationally. She swallowed thickly, refusing to meet his eyes. 

"No."

He was a sharp cry from the man she had captured what felt like so long ago. She thought that if she had taken a moment to look around for the guard he had replaced, she would not have found him knocked out, bound, or gagged. She would have found him dead. 

They rode for a little while, stopping in the very center of the lake. Floating there, she did not feel anxious. The only thing she would be leaving behind was a fragile country, teetering on the edge of a civil war. And by the time her barons started fighting each other for power, it wouldn't matter to her anymore.

"Your Majesty." She looked at him again, meeting his eyes. She did not see much. “You have a choice now. Conscious or unconscious, you can go into the water. I have the boat pole to make certain you don’t come out again.” They both glanced down at it. 

"Or, you can offer me something I want more." _More than killing her._ She could not know what that could be, shivering as she felt an icy wind at her back. She knew, in his position, she would not have hesitated to hold his head underwater until he stopped moving. 

"I want to be king of Aedirn." He said it simply, and she blinked at him as she tried to understand what he'd just said. "I want to marry you."

"You think I would marry you?" She asked, incredulous. 

"If you object to marrying a man with one hand, you've only yourself to blame," He did not sound like he was making a joke, and she would not have laughed if he was. 

"If I choose to die here?" She asked, already knowing the answer. She didn't need him to explain it to her.

"Civil war. Nilfgaard will no doubt send an occupying force to assist the barons' new King - and it will be a king. And Kaedwen retreats into the mountains as Nilfgaard takes the continent." He was matter-of-fact. 

"And if I choose not to die?"

“Then I will escort you to the Executive Council to begin negotiations for a marriage contract. Together the armies of Kaedwen and Aedirn can keep Nilfgaard off this coast and force Redania to make peace as well.” 

“And you would be king of Aedirn?” 

“Yes.” 

“And I would be queen still.” 

“You would rule. I will not interfere, but you will accept Kaedwen advisors.” 

“Then I watch my country bled dry to pay tribute, its treasury drained, its taxes raised, its peasants enslaved, and the barons again the true rulers of the country, free to do as they please so long as the king is fed?” 

“Do you care,” asked Geralt, voice level, “So long as the queen is fed as well?” 

“Of course I care!” She snapped, offended by the idea that she didn't. He shifted a little in his seat, and she believed he was happy to have elicited some emotion from her.

“If I am king," He began. "There will be peace with Kaedwen but no tribute." She snorted derisively, not believing him in the slightest. There was a moment of silence as she considered the offer in its totality. Finally, she spoke. 

"I listened outside of your cell every night." She sounded slightly far away. "Did you know?" He shook his head, and she could hardly see the movement. "Good, I guess my magic still works." She flexed her fingers thoughtfully before hiding them in her dress. Fighting him now and dying, even if it killed him too, would not solve the issue in front of her. "You didn't move. You just lay there… I thought you might have cried but… for a man who expresses as much as you do, you were silent."

"Some people believe that witchers don't have feelings." He informed her, and she shrugged. 

"Your eyes carry your soul. But you kept apologizing over and over. Who were you talking to?" She asked as though she expected an answer. 

"You have a choice to make, Your Majesty. And not a lot of time left." She took a moment, thinking about the ambassador waiting in the megaron who would undoubtedly marry her tomorrow and do everything he could to take away her stress - and her throne while he was at it. 

"Fine." She snapped. "But never drink from my wine cup as long as you wish to live." He began steering them towards the banks of the river without comment. They both knew that she was referencing the death of her first husband. The man had a bad habit of eating his dinner first and then reaching for hers. On the evening of his death, it was her wine he had partaken in. Especially now, she could feel the stinging on her lips from the wine she'd ingested throughout dinner. 

They sailed in silence. 

They reached the banks in little under half an hour. They were in Kaedwen territory, easily explained by the mountain that rose almost right out of the water. Carved into it was a long series of steep, stone steps making their way upwards. 

Gerslt climbed out of the boat and offered her his hand to help. Once she was settled onto her feet, he lifted his arms in a stretch, staring up at the moon. She expected his face to be smug, but it wasn't. Instead he just looked… tired. 

Yennefer reached down to pull from its fabric padding the knife she carried along her ribs, but it was gone. Gone as well were the ceremonial knife from her belt and even the tiny blade hidden in the twists of her hair. She turned her attention back to Geralt in anger, and in his hands were all three knives. 

He tossed them one at a time into the air, catching each by the blade as it came down and tossing it up again, juggling them one-handed, then holding them out, handles first, to the queen. 

She hesitated, expecting him to pull them back, but he didn’t move. “Have all three,” he said. 

When she’d taken them, he pointed to a spot just below his heart. “An upward stroke here,” he said, “would be most efficient, but almost anywhere would do the job. You can push me into the water,” he said. “I don’t know if I can swim with one hand or not.” 

Yennefer waited, sensing a trap. The moon disappeared behind a cloud. Geralt was only a dark form against the darker water behind him. “Before you make a decision,” he said, “I want you to know that I love you.”

She laughed. Geralt flushed in the dark, the scar that marred the left side of his face looked pinker for it. 

"You're a liar, Geralt." He shook his head insistently. "Is this a recent feeling, then? Since our engagement?" The lie itself angered her to her core, that he thought her a girlish fool who might be so easily swayed. 

Geralt shook his head. "When I stole the trophy knife, I loved you then. I didn't understand it, and it scared me." He paused. "But already I loved you.

"Once, before the trials, I snuck out of Kaer Morhen. I thought I might run away, but I didn't bring anything with me. Really, I just wanted a bit of excitement. And to know that I was going through that pain for a good reason." He said, and her brows furrowed in confusion. She knew witchers lived a long time and was unsure as to his exact age. "And I thought about how fun it would be to go to a real royal party. We don't really have them as you do. It took me a week, but I managed to sneak over your palace walls and I saw you. You'd just come outside to get away from everyone else. And you danced among the flowers, alone, to the beat of the music. I was above you in the trees." He paused, remembering it as though it were yesterday. "It was the only time I've seen your real smile."

"That was a long time ago." She stated, and he nodded. "Puppy love." She said, waving her hand as though she could wave the admission away. 

"Puppy love doesn't usually survive amputation, Your Majesty." 

"And you think I'll just believe this." He shrugged, as though there was no other option. 

"You can kill me here, Your Majesty, and be done with this. Or you can believe me.” He’d seen her in a green dress dancing in the moonlight, pretending an entire troupe of dancers danced the harvest circle with her, her arms open to embrace the sisters and friends who existed only in her imagination, and he’d never seen anything so beautiful or so sad. He’d remembered that moment when he’d seen her flush at being called cruel.

"I love you," He said again, and she flinched. "You can believe me."

She watched him, knife ready in her hand, held tightly as she considered. Then, she sheathed it back where it was meant to go, a resigned look on her face. 

“This is what I believe,” she said. “I believe that at the top of the stairs you have friends waiting, and if I climb those stairs without you, I will surely die at the top.”

"Then we'll climb them together." He said innocently, motioning for her to lead.

They did, he started slightly behind her to more easily keep an eye on her, fiddling absently with the hook as they walked. It gave her time to think about his plan, and about how he had tricked her once again. 

"You weren't going to attack," she said out loud, knowing the truth. 

"We weren't. There was no royal messenger. We secured the bag and the seal from the embassy in Kaedwen. The soldiers sent in with us were all human soldiers - They'd been practicing their accents for months."

"But you lugged your cannons across my country for nothing. Why?"

"We didn't lug them anywhere, actually. They were made of wood. We threw them off the mountain and floated them down the river. I imagine Eskel won't even bring them back."

"Bastard," she snarled, and she could practically hear him grinning. She almost turned to see it, but wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

They climbed in silence for a while, and she deliberately kicked at small rocks to send them falling back down to him. He didn't seem to mind. 

"Your Majesty," He piped up suddenly, and the tone of his voice had changed such that she did actually stop, turning to look at him. He was about ten steps below her and looked like he was picking his words very, very carefully. Or he didn't know quite what to say.

"I… thought you'd like the earrings." He said dumbly, scratching at the back of his neck. 

It was as if he could hear the blood moving through her and could hear her flushing with rage. 

She said venomously, “I might like the earrings? As much as I would like to marry a heartless butcher? A one-handed mutant wolf?" She huffed, turning and stomping up the steps again. “When I am actually willing to marry you, I will wear your earrings. Don’t wait for it, Thief.”

“Your Majesty,” he called. 

“What now?” 

“It’s a long climb,” he said, very subdued. “If you keep going like that, you’re going to die of apoplexy before you reach the top.” 

“I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first you drove to apoplexy,” snapped Yennefer but resumed her climb at a slower pace. Geralt followed, still a safe distance behind her.

After another few minutes, as though he was a child who had no impulse control, she heard the quiet sound of a wolf howling behind her. Her hands clenched into fists at her side, stopping for a moment before turning and reaching for the knife hidden near her ribs. She stopped suddenly when she realized that it was missing again, despite how she'd been checking it periodically on the climb. She turned and flicked her fingers in his direction instead, sending a short burst of energy his way. It was petty, and it did send him tumbling slightly. She hid her victorious smile by continuing the climb. As she did so, however, she heard from in front of them a few answering howls. 

Her smile dropped, remembering that they weren't alone, and what awaited them up above. 

Once they climbed the last step, Yennefer saw that there was no camp. Instead, several horses were waiting, and most of the soldiers sitting around were mounted. She saw a few witchers, all with their double swords and medallions, but most of the force was made up of humans and elves. The witchers approached, and introductions were quick. 

There were three witchers, all greeting Geralt at varying levels of intimacy: one with a cat medallion inclined his head, a wolf grasped him by his left forearm, and the third pulled him in for a tight hug, also wearing a wolf's head. 

The first wolf opened his mouth to speak, but the cat pulled him away without a moment's hesitation. She could hear a few choice words coming from the pair, as he was obviously offended by the rough treatment. The remaining witcher looked grateful, inclining his head in Yennefer's direction. 

"Your Majesty." He said by way of greeting, gesturing behind him. "I can assure you nothing he could have said to you would have been polite, even if he wanted to be nice. You'll understand once you get to know him," She didn't tell him that the idea of getting to know any of them was as abhorrent to her as befriending a drowner. 

Instead she nodded back at him. "Then I thank you for your aid." He had deep, ugly scars down his face that twisted his gaze and caused him to be perpetually snarling. It fit her mood perfectly well. 

He snorted at her polite response, turning back to Geralt. "No unexpected difficulties?"

"No unexpected ones." Geralt replied simply, and she narrowed her eyes at him as he whistled. A horse approached, and with the witcher's help he climbed atop it. A soldier appeared, much older in looks than the others but wearing nothing to mark his rank, leading a horse and helping her to climb astride. He looked familiar, but she wasn't certain where it could be from, putting it out of her mind as the last of her worries.

Without any further talk, they rode on, and after a while she could see an army encampment growing bigger and bigger as they approached it. She was led into the middle of it and helped down off her horse, shaking slightly in her wet clothes. 

Rennes was there, no weapons or armor on his person other than a thick jacket to protect against the chill. When Yennefer shivered, he peeled it off immediately and offered it to her. 

"I apologize," He said, not bothered by the cold. "We didn't expect it to rain."

"It must have been the only thing you didn't plan for," she mused, and he only smiled wide. 

"You're tired. I'll have someone show you to your tent." He gestured and a soldier appeared, and she followed obediently. The rest of the party had scattered their own ways, and as she walked she saw a flash of white hair disappear behind a flap. She made her way towards it, ignoring the noises of unhappiness from the soldier, peeking her head into the tent Geralt had disappeared into. 

He was sitting on a cot, his head resting in the palm of his hand and his right arm extended. The soldier from before, whom she thought she recognized, was kneeling in front of him. She watched as the soldier removed the hook and unwrapped the cloth underneath it. As the metal cuff was pulled free from his arm, Geralt shuddered, dropping his head to the man's shoulder. The stump on his hand was reddened and worried from the prosthetic, and her eyes widened when she saw it. 

Geralt looked up then, eyes widening equal to hers, pulling at a nearby cloth and draping it over the stump. Both men were looking at her now, and she felt embarrassed. 

"Can I help you, Your Majesty?" Geralt asked, and she stared at him for a moment before turning away without responding. She followed the soldier obediently the rest of the way. 

It rained most of the night. When she awoke, she expected the sun to have risen, but it was still dark. There was shouting outside her tent, and she struggled to stand as her feet were still wrapped in the blankets. She was just sitting up when the flap to her tent opened, and there stood Geralt. He was breathing heavily, already soaked through his clothes from the rain. He wasn't wearing any armor, nor even a hook on the end of his right arm. The only thing he had donned were two swords, visible over his left shoulder for ease of access. 

One of them, steel, was unsheathed and hanging limply by his side as he stepped into the tent. 

"How lucky you are," he said, voice deep and almost growled in its intonation. Yennefer sat, her chin jutted into the air. She wasn't going to cower if he planned on killing her. No, she would look him in the eye. 

But he didn't raise the sword. Instead, when he came near to her, he bent at the waist and kissed her fiercely on the lips. She was shocked, pulling her face away and grabbing at the blankets to untangle her legs, ready to start yelling. 

By the time she was on her feet, however, he was gone. She stalked to the doorway, stepping into the fray. 

Soldiers ran in front of her tent with their weapons unsheathed, and she saw no familiar faces. "Who is it?" She called, but her eyes adjusted to the darkness before anyone could answer her. 

Nilfgaardian soldiers were visible from her tent, sat high atop their horses, coming down from a slope of the mountain around them. If she had expected Aedirnian soldiers, she would have been surprised. The camp was in chaos as soldiers attempted to create some kind of formation or to find their weapons as they were dragged from their sleep. 

She watched as soldiers formed battle lines, many humans carrying shields, and the witcher commanders were shouting to try and organize them. They were well-trained, however, and did so quickly. Yennefer was not surprised. Cahir had made many negative comments about the Kaedwenian army during the course of the war, not understanding why it was that they didn't just take the pontar pass and make their way up to the mountain. He didn't listen when she'd said that all of Kaedwen - witchers and humans alike - had nothing to do all winter but prepare for war. 

They converged on each other, and she watched as the first row of Kaedwenians went to their knees, slicing forward and taking out their opponents' legs. The back row ran forward, using the shields on the backs of the first row as launching pads to send them in the air and overtop the Nilfgaardians, landing them right in the throngs of fighting. These guerilla tactics continued until it looked as though the Nilfgaardians were overwhelmed. A flare was shot into the sky, and as it arched back towards the ground, she finally caught sight of Geralt. 

She had never seen him fight before - it had been her understanding that he'd planned on never picking one up again. It was the first time she'd seen a witcher fight up close, and she knew then why people said witchers had no emotions. They fought brutally, each target chosen specifically and apprehended as possible. There was no random hacking as she was seeing from the humans, each strike from a witcher's blade was intentional. 

She watched as Geralt fought near the same soldier from before, who had been taking off his hook. It was as though the other's movements were an extension of their own bodies - working in tandem. Geralt feinted to the right, and as the target was distracted the soldier brought his weapon down for the killing blow. Geralt rolled forward, bringing up his Quen sign and stopping the blade of a weapon from striking his partner in the back. 

They took down a large portion of that section together. 

Then the crossbows came out. Any advantage the Kaedwinians had was lost, as not even a witcher could be counted on to deflect twenty bolts at one time. After many had fallen due to the updated weaponry, there was a shout from the top of the hill, a nilfgaard captain yelling out for peace, for surrender. The fighting stopped for a moment.

Geralt was there, shoulders heaving, sword in his hand, as he used his forearm to push the wet hair off his forehead. The older man was beside him. He spoke, and Geralt turned to face him. They stayed like that for a moment before Geralt shook his head and turned away. 

He looked up the hillside to where the crossbowmen lurked. “Peace!” he shouted into the air and threw his sword down into the mud. The other Kaedwenians did the same. Peace and surrender to Nilfgaard.

The gray-haired man spoke again, and Geralt replied. Whatever he said made the older man give a sour laugh. Then they turned together to look at Yennefer. She could see their pale faces, a little blurred by the rain. 

Geralt said something else to the other man, who then nodded and stepped away, distancing himself from the Thief. 

Beyond them a figure was silhouetted for a moment on the ridge. Yennefer knew who it must be, and she walked out into the open to meet him. When she reached the ambassador, she laid both her hands in his and smiled. “I have much to thank you for, Cahir, more now than just the pleasure of your company.” 

“It is my honor, Your Majesty. I only wish I could have saved you the strain of your terrible journey.” He bowed over her hands to kiss them both. Even in the rain, his hair lay neatly on his scalp. His cloak swept the tips of his polished boots where the raindrops seemed to sparkle in the torchlight. She lifted her gaze from his boots back to his face as he straightened. 

“A fine rescue,” the queen said. 

“I have landed my army on the coast and ordered it to our other stronghold to support the upcoming battle closer to the border. I can only hope that Her Majesty will forgive me for bringing my men uninvited through her territory.” Attolia squeezed his hands. 

“What alternative do I have?” she said lightly, and he nodded in agreement. There weren't many options available to her. 

***

All of the Kaedwenian soldiers were put in chains. In Geralt's case, a thick one sat around his neck, and his arms were bound to his sides, which in turn were bound to his ankles. Their weapons were taken, and more than one witcher made a biting comment about the treatment of their precious weapons. Geralt did not, staring intently at a spot on the ground as though it would save him. Potions were smashed and bags were dumped out, the nilfgaardian force not bothering to look for anything valuable. 

Yennefer, wearing a blanket around her shoulders as though it were an expensive shawl, walked next to her prisoners. She stopped as she came up next to Geralt, tilting her head to try and catch his eyes. He wouldn't look at her, though. 

"What will you do now?" She asked curiously. He had some blood drying on his face, but upon further inspection she could find no grievous injuries. No injuries at all, in fact. 

"Oh," He said, and gave easy shrugs of his shoulders. "Grovel, I suppose."

"I've heard you grovel before," She pointed out. 

“That was begging,” he said with a better effort at lightness. “There wasn’t much opportunity for groveling last . . . time.” He stumbled, then added evenly, “I am very good at groveling.” 

“Anything to save your skin?” Yennefer asked. 

“Nothing is going to save my skin,” He replied flatly. She reached out and gripped his chin in her hands, turning his head forcibly. After a moment of resistance he allowed it, taking a sharp breath in when their eyes met. The polite mask from before was gone - she wasn't surprised. His eyes had always been honest where his mouth wasn't, and his fear was obvious within them. 

He had forgotten what it was like to be at the mercy of the Queen of Aedirn. 

He knew that she was going to exact revenge - either for her or her country it didn't matter. It would not be fast, it would be ruthless and cruel. But worse than that, he felt, was that she would be the one to do it to him. Because she hated him. 

He could tell her he loved her - shout it out right now in front of Cahir, the soldiers, and the gods. But it wouldn't matter. He was famous in three countries for his lies, Jaskier had said once. And it was true. He ducked his head, not wanting to think about Jaskier right now. They hadn't spoken in almost a year, and Geralt had no idea where he was. He'd written something and left it in his room at Kaer Morhen - but it didn't feel like enough. There were not enough words to explain everything that Geralt hadn't told him yet, and would never get the chance to.

She let go of him and took a small step back, and it released Geralt from his negative thoughts. He could breathe again, breathing out everything he was thinking, forgetting about Jaskier because he had to. 

And he took one step towards her, leaning in and whispering into her ear, "From shadow queen to puppet queen in one rule,” he paused. “That’s very impressive. When he rules your country and he tells you he loves you, I hope you believe him.” 

He anticipated her blow and leaned back. Her hand only brushed his cheek in an entirely unsatisfying manner. “At least that’s one lie I didn’t tell you,” Geralt said, falling back into place with the other soldiers as Cahir made his way towards them. 

She kept her angry, level gaze on him, even as Cahir sidled up next to her and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "He insulted you?"

She shook her head, placing a hand over his and turning to walk away from the thief. "Not for the first time." She looked around. "I presume that Rennes rode out before you all arrived. It's no matter. I'd rather speak with him than the two hermits."

***

They were marched without care towards Baron Stennis' keep. Geralt was silent the whole way. He couldn’t see, except to see the queen dancing in her garden, couldn’t think except of her dressed in palest green with flowers embroidered around the neck of her gown as she watched them cut off his hand. My God, he thought, I am so frightened. O my God, if you will not save me, make me less afraid. 

He'd never been afraid of death. Usually in a fight with a monster or a bandit they were just trying to stop the breath in your lungs as quickly as possible. There was no need to draw it out, but this… this was terrifying. 

Any lucid thought he had was spent trying to figure out what mistake he had made. Who had revealed their plans, who would have turned on them, and known where the encampment was hidden? His thoughts turned to Rennes, who had appeared before dawn at Geralt's tent and said he was riding out with some witchers and that they would meet back at the Pass. He didn't want to believe it, so he didn't. 

***

Yennefer rode slowly next to the ambassador, only occasionally adding to the conversation he was pursuing. Her thoughts were scattered, and she twisted at her necklace, deep in thought. 

"We must talk about the captain of your guard, I think. This whole debacle happened under his watchful eye - I find it impossible that he's not somehow involved." Cahir said with a shake of his head. She only hummed in response. "And he did not ride out with us to find you, instead insisting to stay and hold the megaron."

"He might have just known how safe I would be with you protecting me." She said, sickly sweet, and he looked bashful at the tone. 

"I think there are other problems, as well." Cahir continued. "You see, a woman came into my room. She slipped past all of the guards, and even my attendant who was in the adjoining chamber. She woke me while I was asleep."

"A woman?" Yennefer asked sharply, and he gave her a flirtatious glance. 

"She must have been one of your attendants - I assure you I did nothing to besmirch the poor girl's honor. She disappeared before I was able to even stand," Yennefer was not impressed by his chivalry. "But she can't be trusted despite her help, because someone who can get through all of your guards is a liability."

"I see. And did she shake you awake? Or call out your name?"

"She spoke my name," He said, wondering how it was she had guessed. 

***

Baron Stennis greeted them, although was quickly waved aside by Cahir. Once it was clear that they were going to use his manor in whatever way they would need, he quietly excused himself and disappeared. Yennefer didn't really care where to. 

Once she had been helped off her horse, she gently took Cahir's hand to gain his attention. "Sir, if you would be so kind as to have the prisoners brought into the main hall. I'm going to pick one to take a message toward Kaedwen after my bath."

"Can't you pick one now?" He asked sweetly, and she shook her head. 

"After my bath," Then she let him go, turning towards the house and the rooms that had been prepared for her. Once inside, she allowed herself a moment's worth of peace, taking a deep breath. Her attendants were good at their jobs, having already prepared everything for her. Instead of heading towards it, however, she moved to an adjoining room, pleased to find Vilgefortz and his lieutenants waiting for her. 

"The prisoners are in the main hall of the keep by now. Somewhere among them is the Thief of Kaer Morhen. I need one of you to assure his continued well-being, as I will be most unpleased if he were to die before getting to the capitol. Is that understood?" Vilgefortz nodded, sending one of the lieutenants out the door before turning his attention back to her. 

She gave the rest of her orders quickly, sending men out the door with hastily written messages. Once they were all gone, she sunk into the bath, considering all that Cahir was to her. He'd been smart and cunning since he arrived, helping her through several military battles as he was able to use experience that she did not have. His position as king would be a strong one, and he would not have to be convinced to take it. 

Her attendants moved around the room silently, getting together a clean dress to wear after her bath. She watched as one of them sorted through jewelry, pulling out a pair of green emeralds for her ears.

"Wait, not those," She said sharply, standing finally to begin getting dressed. "Not those."

***

Vilgefortz pointed Geralt out, sitting on the floor with the other prisoners, soaked to the bone from the rain. He was shivering, his eyes closed and his head dripping towards his chest as though asleep. She gave a slight nod once Vilgefortz had finished, walking slowly through the Kaedwinian army until she made it to his side. She kneeled down, grasping a handful of his hair tightly and pulling his head upwards to look at her. 

He blinked up at her owlishly, first in fear and then in shock, examining her face with furrowed brows. 

"Mutant," She said, voice hard. "Do you understand what is going to happen to you?" 

He blinked slowly at her before responding. "Yes," He said, voice hoarse, and she let his head drop once again. 

"Good." She raised her voice so Vilgefortz could hear her from where he stood. "I am going to pick someone to send a message to my dear Rennes," She pointed to a man at her feet, recognizing him as the same soldier that had fought by Geralt's side during the battle just hours before. She continued walking as her guards unshackled him and brought him to follow her. 

She sat on the chair provided for her - it was a small throne, less elegant than the one in her palace. She settled in it confidently. There was not one for Cahir, and he stood awkwardly on her left side. 

The man stood, his arms crossed over his chest now that they were freed, indignant. He was not afraid of her, nor shaking at being so close to royalty as a human soldier might. 

"You are a soldier?" She asked, and he nodded. 

"You don't seem to have risen very far despite your years," It was a tease in order to get a rise out of him. 

"Maybe I'm not ambitious," He said as if it answered all her questions, and she hummed in agreement. 

“Will you carry a message for me?” the queen asked. 

“I can hardly decline, Your Majesty,” answered the prisoner.

“Tell your Premier that I will not return his Thief a second time.” The prisoner just looked up at her dully. “What remains of his life, he spends with me, do you understand, messenger?” 

“I believe so, Your Majesty.” 

"I do not think your council understands my attachment to my allies.” She carefully did not look at Cahir. Her voice was hard. She leaned forward in her seat, the fabric of her long skirts bunched in her hands as if she were holding the prisoner’s attention with them. “When he had me away from any protection, your Thief proposed life or death to me and let me choose my fate. I am in my own land now and have an answer to the Thief’s proposal. Do you know what my answer is?” 

“Yes,” the prisoner said. 

“Yes,” Yennefer repeated after him, enunciating the word clearly. “Tell him he can send a message back to me so long it is sent with you. And tell him it must arrive by the seventh hour of tomorrow morning. No later... on pain of death. You may go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the realization that this fic being ot3 has probably narrowed the scope of people who will want to read it... I should probably be stressed about that but honestly,,, it's very liberating to be writing something even though I might be the only one who likes it :D
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on Monday because I have only written the last third of it.... and each chapter is getting longer and longer and I don't wanna have to force it all out in one sitting. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always welcome (and encouraged)! You can find me on Tumblr at: [i-am-a-blobfish](https://i-am-a-blob-fish.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

Yennefer gets a few hours of rest before her attendants are once again knocking at her door. She'd ordered Geralt separated from the rest of the prisoners so that it would be easier to keep an eye on him. He was stuck in a large hallway closet with a guard posted outside the door, and she was happy to keep him there. 

She was roused from sleep by the insistent servant, who entered before Yennefer could respond as though rushed. This one was named Ismene, and she was young and blonde in all the ways that Yen never was. And she was practically shaking out of anxiety. 

"My Queen, Lord Caellach wishes you to attend him." Yennefer sat up, staring in slight confusion at her before giving the young girl a wry smile.

"He does grow ever bold. I'll come to the west audience room when I'm dressed." She said with a wave of her hand, and a few other girls appeared from an adjacent door as though summoned, holding various articles of clothing in their hands. 

"He's in the hallway now, My Queen," Ismene responded sheepishly, as though she expected to be dismissed by the fact alone. 

Yennefer's smile fell, darkened by the knowledge, and she nodded, turning towards the other girls. "I'll need something that requires much less work. There's no time for a corset now."

Once she was somewhat presentable and sitting in a chair by the hearth, she allowed Cahir to be shown in. He was wearing his breastplate as well as his sword strapped to his waist. He looked her up and down appraisingly, and she fought to keep her polite smile on her face. 

"The Kaedwenians have moved the force of their army just north of Gulet. They're assembling for an attack on the city." 

"I have not heard as such from any royal messenger." She said although she did not doubt the truth of his statement. "Intercepting my messages?"

"I just wanted to be the one to inform you, My Queen." He said sheepishly.

“Rennes is a fool if he thinks he can defeat my army and yours combined,” Yennefer said, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve. 

“I had thought their advisors were more sensible, but his sentimentality for the thief must have gotten the better of him.” 

"The surrounding barons have ordered their forces to converge on them from the West, I thought Your Majesty might wish to observe the battle. My men have put together a safe place to observe from the hill. You needn't be afraid."

“Thank you, Cahir,” she said calmly. “I am not afraid.”

***

The dress she chose to wear was not in the style that she would often wear around members of her court or guard; it had a plunging neckline, long black sleeves who's fabric was interrupted at the elbows by a lace pattern that allowed for movement, and another lace pattern on the back of the dress that crawled up her neck. The gown had been crafted to wear during her ascension ceremony at Aretuza - and she remembered how proud she had been looking in the mirror, holding it in front of her and imagining what she might look like. 

She'd never been able to wear it.

Now, she enjoyed the eyes on her as she exited the keep, stepping over to the horse Cahir had prepared for her. She was used to it, of course, but not the looks of slight shock that followed. 

Around her were Nilfgaardian soldiers, members of Cahir's private guard that had been following him since his ships had landed in her harbor. None of her own guards were astride horses, and only Vilgefortz was in sight of her. 

He drew near, smart enough not to comment on her appearance, and began helping her on her horse. "Are you sure about this, My Queen?" He asked quietly, and she nodded. 

Once she was settled he climbed upon his own horse, and she nodded to Cahir to show they were ready to leave. They set off, Cahir next to her and Vilgefortz slightly behind. It wasn't very far to the battlefield, and on the way they managed to pass the ridge where Geralt's wooden cannons had been left, a few having gone lopsided from the wind. She turned away from them, watching as Vilgefortz stepped off his horse and took her reins in his hand, leading Yennefer closer to the edge of the ridge so that she may better see the arrangement of armies down below. 

The Kaedwinians formed a loose line across the field, and she knew they were joining into groups of three or more that would fight together instead of attempting to join all the soldiers together as one force. 

Her own soldiers were creating tight-knit lines, broken only every now and then by a mage who needed space to work. Behind them, the Nilfgaardians had joined together in smaller tight-knit rectangles of about thirty men each. It did not escape the Queen's notice how separated the Nilfgaardian force would be from the actual fighting, but she said nothing. 

"I'm going to establish a perimeter, Your Majesty," Vilgefortz said, and descended down the ridge just slightly, dipping out of sight. 

“I wonder why he isn’t down on the plain,” said Cahir after he was gone. 

“He’s the captain of my personal guard. He’s supposed to guard my person,” Yennefer said.

“Then I wonder why he’s gone off to establish a perimeter like a corporal.” 

“He knows how much I trust you,” said the queen. “I wonder why you yourself are not down on the plain.” 

“I am not needed there yet. I can send messages with one of my men, but otherwise I will wait out the morning with you, Your Majesty.” And later, when most of her army had been cut down, he would join his own army to direct the attack on the Kaedwenians.

There was silence between them as they awaited Vilgefortz's return, and after a few moments of it, Yennefer spoke again. 

"The messenger I sent to Rennes. You didn't recognize him." She said it absently, and he hardly glanced in her direction. 

"Should I have?" 

"He was a member of Kaer Morhen's executive council, a witcher called Vesemir." She paused. "I suppose you thought nothing of his amber eyes. You haven't much reason to recognize such a specific trait."

“You suborned my barons,” she said calmly. 

“What?” he said, shaking his head. 

“You suborned my barons and corrupted my army in order to facilitate a loss in which I would have been taken prisoner. You, having landed your army at Rhea without my permission, would have been ready to rescue me gloriously. The thief spoiled those plans, but you came about well, and here you are, once again ready to see my army decimated and your Medes heroes.” 

“My Queen," He began in his own defense, finally turning to look at her. "What could you mean? Have I not been—”

“Undermining my throne for months? You have, Cahir. You have bribed my barons and blackmailed them and riddled my country with your spies."

“Your Majesty—” The ambassador began again, but the queen overrode him. 

“To be honest, Cahir, you have been more trouble than Redania or Kaedwen these past few months. Your saving grace is that you have brought me a great deal of gold when I needed it badly.” 

“Gold that must be repaid, Your Majesty,” said the ambassador, scrambling for what must have felt like the last door he could find.

“The gold was a gift; you said so yourself.”

“You are a woman,” Cahir said very gently. “You do not understand the world of kings and emperors, you do not understand the nature of their gifts.” 

“Ambassador, if there is one thing a woman understands, it is the nature of gifts. They are bribes when threats will not avail. Your emperor cannot attack this coast unprovoked; the treaties with the greater nations of this Continent prevent him. All he can do is stir up an ugly three-way war and hope to be invited in as an ally, and I did not invite him.” The queen shook her head. “The problem with bribes, Sir, is that after your money is gone, threats still do not avail.”

Cahir stared, seeing a queen he hadn’t guessed existed. Yennefer stared back at him. “I inherited this country when I was almost a child, Ambassador. I was raised in Aretuza since I was a teen and raised by my father the King before that. I was always supposed to work in Aedirn's court, and I've always known what awaited me on the throne since I became the heir. I have held my seat longer than any royal in my family. I have fought down rebellious barons. I’ve fought Redania to keep the land on this side of the mountains. I have killed men and watched them hang. I’ve seen them tortured to keep this country safe and mine. How did you think I did this if I was a fool with cow eyes for any handsome man with gold in his purse?” 

Cahir’s eyes narrowed. “You cannot escape the bargain now, Your Majesty.” 

“I made no bargain with you,” said Attolia flatly. 

“One way or another the gold must be repaid.” 

“So I am to overlook your treachery?”

“Diplomacy—in my emperor’s name. And yes, you will overlook it if you hope to remain queen when I am king.” 

“I have said before that the next king of Aedirn will be my choice, no one else’s.”

“Then you have only to choose me, and we will both be made happy, will we not? And your barons as well. While you were ‘distracted,’ they seemed very agreeable to my rule.” 

“They are mice, Cahir, hiding in their mouseholes, hoping that their own familiar cat will come home to drive you away. At least when I hang people from castle walls, it is because they are traitors, not because they drive hard bargains. You seem willing to hang anyone that displeases you. How kind of you to show my barons that if I am a hard ruler to cross, you are a worse one to serve. I must thank you for that as well as for your emperor’s gold. They will be most mousy and well behaved for months.” 

“And Kaedwen? Does Kaedwen do you any favors?” Cahir smiled as though he was scoring a point, reveling as he reminded her of the battle her soldiers were fighting against Kaedwen in the field before them.

“Look and see, Ambassador," She answered, gesturing towards the field. They watched as the Aedirnian army split neatly in half, providing an easy path between them for the Kaedwenians to fill the gap. They watched as the ragtag mountain-dwellers did just that, now that they had unhindered access to the Nilffaardian army that had tried to stay far away. Against a regular army, Nilfgaard might have stood a chance. But angry witchers, elves, and dwarves, and flanked on two sides by the wall of shields Aedirn provided?

"Treachery," snarled Cahir, turning to her almost violently, pausing when she reached out to touch his face. She watched as he tried to twist away from her touch, and she grabbed at his horse's reins to keep him from doing so. Her eyes shifted to the grass in front of them, and his followed. There, below where they had been looking, was Vilgefortz. 

He lay on his stomach in the grass, a crossbow nestled safely in his hands, pointed directly at the ambassador. Cahir's eyes widened in fear for a moment, and Yennefer gave a soft pat to his face to get his attention again. 

"Diplomacy." She said, voice level. "In my own name. Don't be worried about him, Cahir. Be worried about me. You men often forget that I was a sorceress before I became Queen, and a damn good one."

Her hand was hot, burning against his skin and leaving a red trail wherever she moved. She reached up and touched at his gelled hair almost gleefully watching as it singed under her fingertips. He let out a small noise, and she pressed particularly hard into his cheek, her nose wrinkling as the skin bubbled under her hand. She let him go then, and he collapsed heavily against the neck of his horse. 

The rest of her guard rose up from the long grass behind Vilgefortz and surrounded them. The ambassador turned to his own guard, blinking in confusion when he saw that they were frozen in place, unblinking to the events happening before them. 

He relaxed against the horse again and closed his eyes, conceding defeat. He wasn't stupid. 

"And what does Kaedwen request from you, then? There must be something you've promised." She did not respond, and realization dawned on his face. He did not have to elaborate - they both knew what she'd promised. "You'll sell out your own throne."

"I'll retain my sovereignty," She snapped, all pleasantries cast aside. 

“Oh, yes, a fine one-handed figurehead he will make,” Cahir spat back at her. “Or do I insult your lover?” he asked. 

“Not a lover,” she said, not looking at him. “Merely my choice for king.”

***

Rennes stood on the bank of the Dyphne River, flanked on either side by Vesemir and Barmin. He was smiling triumphantly, weaponless once again. He was confident in Yennefer's word once given, and he greeted her boat with widespread arms. 

Barmin and Vesemir wore matching frowns, though if it was due to being forced into the world outside Kaer Morhen or the situation before them, it was hard to tell. 

"I only agreed to this job because they said I wouldn't have to leave the mountain," Barmin said, leaning over to whisper at Vesemir. The old witcher grunted in response - not dealing with politics was a major perk. 

"We're in agreement, Premier?" Yennefer asked, and they could both hear her clearly despite the distance, listening as Rennes confirmed their arrangement. 

"I wonder what he sees in her," mused Barmin, and Vesemir wondered as well. She was beautiful, certainly. But if that was the only reason, there were many beautiful individuals already in Geralt's life. And none of them had wounded the young wolf so thoroughly. But, unlike his companion, he was attempting to withhold his judgment for now.

They listened in further silence as Rennes and Yennefer traded compliments about their military prowess back and forth - it was probably not the time to mention that it had been Barmin giving the orders. He was the best at making the broad choices for large battles, but if he wanted to make himself known then he would. Neither of them had a political bone in their body. 

Rennes gestured to the side, inviting another member of their party towards them. Triss curtsied, clad in a pair of thick traveling pants and a loose shirt, easily a man's outfit in any other country. 

"Your Majesty," She said, eyes bright with recognition. "It's lovely to see you again."

"Triss," Yennefer said softly, a small smile gracing her face. "You as well. I had heard you were gracing Kaer Morhen's court. And for the better - I wouldn't expect anything less." Triss beamed at the praise from her old friend, her hands clasped in front of her. 

"Thank you. If you don't mind a bit of frankness, Your Majesty - your relationship with Nilfgaard-"

Yennefer held up her hand to cut the other mage off, shaking her head. "Just an unfortunate guest, I assure you."

"But we thought-"

“That the emperor was financing my war? He was, but it was on his own speculation.” 

“And your ambassador?” 

Yennefer uncharacteristically said the first thing that came to mind, too easily remembering how they had been as teens, crinkling her nose in disgust. “He uses cheap hair oil and smells like grease.” 

“Well, that certainly is frank on your part,” said Triss, laughing. “I had thought you were fond of him.” 

“So did he,” said Yennefer dryly.

They rode back across the river together. They had ordered the prisoners back at the baron's homestead to be freed and followed what remained of the Nilfgaardian army towards the coast, ensuring that they would leave without causing any more trouble. It would only be two days worth of a trip there and back, and most of her time was spent catching up with her old friend. 

It was only when they were half a days' ride away from the baron's home that Triss remembered. "Where's Geralt?" She asked, not sounding worried, mostly curious. 

Yennefer froze, her smile disappearing quickly from her face, appearing for a moment like a statue in a temple before responding. "Locked in a closet. In Gulet." Triss's gaze turned serious, looking suddenly as if she wanted to portal there immediately. "I forgot I had him locked up separately - so he wouldn't run away again."

"You forgot?" Triss asked, disbelieving. 

"I forgot," Yennefer responded firmly. There was a tense moment of silence as Triss considered the queen before her, and the situation they were all in. 

"You'll marry him?" She asked hesitantly, not surprised when Yennefer's face darkened as though she'd been accused of something.

"I said I would." She snapped, and Triss looked away. She dropped back, giving Yennefer the space she needed to actually think about what she was getting into. She found herself next to Vesemir, who considered her warmly. 

"What do you think?" He asked, and she shrugged. 

"I don't really know. I guess I'll just have to go on doing what we've been doing all along?" He raised an eyebrow inquisitively and she sighed. "Trust that Geralt knows what he's doing."

***

They made it back to the keep within a couple of hours. There were still many Aedirnian soldiers milling about as they expected their queen’s arrival, and they came into attention as her horse came to a stop. She didn’t acknowledge anyone, going to the lieutenant in charge and snapping at him. 

“Take me to the thief.” He saluted and immediately moved to do as he was told, leading her up the stairs and into the house. 

Triss jumped off her horse as well and followed after her. She was just about to enter the house when a soldier guarding the door stopped her. 

"Hey young man, where do you think you're going?" He said, grabbing her elbow. She jerked out of his grip and turned to glare at him, and he backed up immediately. His hands went into the air in surrender, watching her stalk after the Queen. 

Yennefer was far ahead of her, taking the keys from the lieutenant when he was too slow and unlocking the door herself, opening it, and quickly stepping in. 

It was a small closet, but long enough that a grown man could lie down on his back and still have room to stretch. The walls were lined with shelves carrying spare cleaning supplies and other household necessities. 

Geralt looked to be sitting on the floor, his legs curled beside him. His head and shoulders rested on one of the bottom shelves, one arm for a pillow. The hook on the other arm lay across his knees. His eyes were closed. He didn’t move. As Yennefer waited in the doorway watching him, he didn’t stir or wake. On the floor beside him, a tray held the remains of a meal. There was a wine cup. It had tipped over and broken, spilling some of it onto the floor.

Yennefer was still, caught at the threshold like one who had been turned to stone. She thought of Cahir, who should have been away on a boat by now. How many poisons did he have at his command? How many allies did he have among her barons? How easy would it have been to arrange the death of a successful rival?

How cruel of the gods, she thought as she stared at him, to send her a man she would love without realizing it. How appropriate for her fiance to have been taken from her by poison.

There were footsteps behind her, and Triss peered into the closet over her shoulder, taking in the sight of her friend on the floor. Yennefer registered Triss's movement just enough to know that no one would believe that she didn't do this. 

As Triss stepped past her, slipping by without so much as ruffling her skirts, Yennefer thought about the future. They would return to war, and this time without the aid of Nilfgaardian coin at her back. Yennefer would be alone as she had always been, but now she had never felt so desolate. She cursed herself for her stupidity. Who was the thief that she would love him? A liar, she thought, an enemy, a threat. He was brave, a voice inside her said, he was loyal. Not loyal to me, she answered. Not brave on my behalf. Brave and loyal, the voice repeated. A fool, she answered back. A fool and a dead one. She ached with emptiness.

Triss stopped just shy of Geralt, stopping at his feet and kneeling down. "He's asleep," She said, turning back and finally seeing the look on Yennefer's face, raw and full of emotion. "Just asleep," she said, voice soft. 

Geralt's eyes opened, not moving an inch as he examined the two women before him. Yennefer's hand went to her chest as though to soothe a pain, but when his gaze flickered to her in the doorway, she dropped it and straightened. 

At first, he didn't know where he was. At first, he thought he might be in a Redanian dungeon. And then he thought he was still on the road, and Ferrant was demanding that he wake up. Which he didn't want to do, because they were going to make him stand up and go somewhere and he didn't want to do that.

"Go away," He mumbled even as his eyes cleared, a small smile on his face when he recognized Triss. 

“He looks—” Yennefer hunted for the word. “Defenseless” came to mind, but it wasn’t the one she wanted, nor was “young,” though he looked even younger when he was asleep. “Quite guileless,” she said at last. 

“Oh, yes,” said Triss. “I’m always willing to forgive him anything—until he wakes up.” She leaned down and poked him harshly on the shoulder.

He straightened as they spoke, jerking his shoulders to pop them as he considered the two before him. His eyes narrowed in Triss's direction. "You forgot me." He said plainly, turning to Yennefer. "You forgot me, too."

"You were fed." Yennefer said, unbothered by his complaints. Geralt looked up at her, and Yennefer felt transparent as if her mask were gone; as if he could see her heart and know that a moment before it had been stopped by grief. 

“That’s true, a girl brought me dinner,” Geralt said thoughtfully. “She was very pretty.” After a pause he added, “And very kind.” Yennefer smiled thinly, crossing her arms over her chest. Triss looked concerned. 

“It’s not too late for you to end up chained to a wall.” 

“Oh, someone would rescue me,” Geralt said, rolling his eyes innocently. “And while I was there, that lovely girl could bring my dinner. I think,” he said, with his head propped by his arm, looking into the middle distance, “I think when I’m king”—he repeated himself slowly—“when I am king, she can be my first mistress.” 

Yennefer snapped, “You have any mistresses and I’ll cut your other hand off.” Triss opened her mouth to protest the comment on her friend's behalf, even stepping between them as though to protect Geralt. 

Before she could say anything however, she was interrupted by Geralt laughing behind her. She turned, and his head was tilted back against the shelf in amusement, his hand resting on his stomach leisurely. Then he looked back at her, his eyes relaxed and happy if only for a moment.

She looked back at him, and her cheeks flushed. She said, with sincerity, “You are a poisonous little snake.” 

“Yes,” said Geralt. Stiff, he climbed up to sit on the bed, running his fingers through his hair and yawning. “Yes. And I want out of this room.”

Yennefer leaned over him to catch his chin under her hand. She felt the barest flinch before he lifted his eyes to meet hers. “You need a bath,” she said, “and someone to see to your arm." He hadn't taken off the cuff in days, and she knew how painful it must be by now. "You can wait here a little longer until I send an attendant.”

But she didn’t let go of his chin. She held him, looking into his face. He reached up to touch very lightly the earring in her ear, a black skellige pearl on a flowered gold backing that matched the design of the crown atop her head. She’d been wearing the earrings when she bent over him in his chains in the main hall. 

“Do you like them?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said Yennefer. She straightened and went to the door. 

“Will you send that nice girl who brought my dinner?” He called after her. 

Yennefer lifted her eyebrow. “No,” she said and was gone.

Triss turned to Geralt, putting a hand on his arm to comfort him, still feeling confused but comforted by how well he seemed. He turned to her, his smile sobering up slightly, and he fiddled with the hook in his lap as if in thought.

"I didn't think this through," he said, letting out a long breath. "And now it's all coming to a head."

“Marrying her, you mean?” Triss sat down next to him, concerned. 

“Nooo,” he said, and he looked over at her. In his eyes Triss saw a hint of something she couldn’t remember having seen there before. Panic. “I didn’t think about being king,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

Triss stared. “Your capacity to land yourself in a mess because you didn’t think first, Geralt, will never cease to amaze me. What do you mean you didn’t think about being king? Is Yennefer going to marry you and move into our tower?” 

“No,” said Geralt, looking sullenly at his feet. “I knew that I had to be king. I just didn’t think about it.” 

“All those clothes,” Triss remarked thoughtfully. “Ceremonies. Duties. Obligations.” 

“People staring at me… all the time.” There was a moment of silence as they both sat in it before Triss responded. 

"You know… we are all relying on this… We can create a treaty without a marriage." She said softly, and he shook his head. 

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

***

They traveled to Vengerberg together, as one party. When they arrived, all tired from the past few days, they'd all separated to rest and recuperate. After a day or so, they had to get started on the treaty negotiations so they could put all this mess behind them.

Geralt appeared in Triss' room. Yennefer had provided her with some of her attendants during her stay - he assumed it was a thinly veiled attempt to try and reach out and regain her trust. They were currently dressing her in a very elaborate silk dress - also a gift from the Queen.

“I’ve seen golden calves guarded less fiercely,” Geralt remarked as he watched her treatment from his post against the wall. 

“I did notice the number of armed guards in the palace. Is it because we are here?” Triss asked, her arms still held out to either side.

“No,” said Geralt. “They are always around her.” It was an informed opinion, she supposed. If anyone would know.

***

"Your Majesty," The jailer was walking next to her at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to bring her where they were going. "He came up to the palace gates asking to be allowed inside, claiming he was some nobility or whatnot. It got lost in translation, I think, Redanian dog," the man spit on the ground as though in superstition. 

"And I have been summoned to the dungeons because of one lunatic? It's a wonder I am not called for more often." She mused, waiting for him to get to the point. They exited the regal-looking hallway and turned into a narrow stairwell. Vilgefortz was behind her with a lamp, holding it above their heads so it lit a path. 

"He was raving like a mad man, but when he brought him in, he shut up just as quick. Showed us this," He held up a medallion in the air, unmistakable in its likeness. Belonging to a witcher; the head of a cat hung loosely from the dirty chain, vibrating slightly in her presence. "And here's the kicker. Said he wasn't going to speak to anyone other than the Aedirn King." Her eyebrows went up in surprise, frowning at the knowledge. 

Her engagement to Geralt was still too early in the making for commoners to consider him a King by any means - she expected that wouldn't come until much later. But any witcher would have no reason to ransom his information like this, as just existing was enough to warrant a council with the White Wolf. 

She encouraged the jailer to lead on, halting when he did. The door opened - these rooms were less perilous than the ones she saved for traitors or other threats to her kingdom. As soon as she saw the figure on his knees in the middle of the floor, her gut wrenched. 

They should have placed him in the other cells. 

He looked up at her suddenly, the hopefulness of his gaze collapsing when it was her standing before him and not Geralt. He hung his head again, expecting the worst. 

She did not speak to him, instead turning to the jailer. "Move him upstairs, now. Into a nice room. I want him cared for and fed, and I am to know as soon as he sees a doctor. Understood?" The jailer, overwhelmed by her change of tone, nodding inelegantly and scrambled for the keys to his chains. 

She glanced at the prisoner one more time. He was taller than when she'd last seen him, and much more tan. His chest was broad and muscled where he had before been soft. His hair was long and ragged as though he'd been cutting the ends with a knife when necessary and maintaining none of the styles he usually managed it in. His face, once clear of all imperfection, now held a deep, jagged scar that ran over the bridge of his nose, and another one that cut down over the right side of his mouth, causing the curve of his lips to be jagged. Every emotion that passed as they looked at each other was cut by the snarl the mark created. 

His eyes, no longer innocent of the world's horrors, were hard with resolve. He was unafraid and fierce. 

She turned on her heel, marching past Vilgefortz, her hands clenched behind her back anxiously. "I need to see Rennes immediately."


	5. Chapter 5

Jaskier slept for what felt like the first time in weeks. He had, of course, just not in a bed as comfortable as this. As soon as he’d been washed and fed they’d allowed him to rest, and he had all but dropped into the soft comforter stretching his sore limbs and taking up as much space as he was able. He ignored the anxiety tingling in his gut, forcing himself instead to let out a long and dramatic sigh that sent the servant girls helping him into a fit of giggles. Then he fell asleep. 

He wasn’t altogether certain what had awoken him from his slumber. Where before it would take nothing short of being shaken and thrown from the bed, every little noise managed to rouse him. He was lucky for it, anyway, because only a second later the door opened. Jaskier scrambled to sit up, a hand moving upwards to fix his hair and look presentable. A soldier stood in position by the door, and behind him appeared the Queen of Aedirn. She was regal in her finery, almost more so than the first time he’d laid eyes on her. 

He said nothing, watching as she dismissed the guards. There was already a chair moved next to his bed for her to sit in, and she stared at it inquisitively for a moment before giving a slight shake of her head and filling the space herself. She took a moment to settle her skirts before turning her attention to him. He did not wilt under the power of it, instead lifting his chin in response. She smirked. 

“I’ve seen your letters,” She said softly, and without explanation. He didn’t need one. “I believe you have a talent for prose for a man barely out of boyhood.” He might have thought it was a slight if not for the tone of her voice.

“He’s shown you our letters?” Jaskier asked, trying to ignore the way his anxiety was threatening to crawl out of his stomach and up into his throat. 

She shook her head, her gaze almost pitying. “He himself has not seen them,” She said softly, turning her gaze away, and Jaskier immediately saw through her mask. Embarrassment. On any other woman, he might have expected a bush. “I will admit that I had been intercepting some of his correspondence for the better part of the past year. It has been almost a month since your last letter, and I admit that bringing them out into the open was not at the forefront of my mind.” She’d forgotten. “I can assure you that I did not do so with forethought or malice.” He believed her. 

“So,” Jaskier’s voice was dry, and he swallowed thickly. “The… the King does not yet know about my troubles?” He asked, and she grimaced. 

“He’s not the King… yet. Your information was twisted in the pipeline.” Damn Dijkstra to hell, Jaskier thought. In twenty years of service to the crown, the agent's information had never been twisted by accident. He’d lied. “He knows only that the civil war has turned for the worse, and that your family was lost to it.”

“And you’re working on a treaty that will ensure a… relationship.. between Kaedwen and Aedirn.” It was a statement of fact. She nodded slowly, worrying at her lower lip. She’d read their letters. She knew about their relationship, and she sat next to Jaskier not wanting _his_ feelings to be hurt. “Do you love him?” He asked, searching her face for any sign of the truth. 

She froze, keeping her eyes locked on a point just over his shoulder as she considered the question. “I’ve chosen him. Is that not enough?” She asked, and the way she phrased it made it sound as though she was actually asking. And _of course_ she was, already he knew how alike she and Geralt were to each other. And already he knew the answers to his own questions. 

He let out a short laugh, leaning forward and putting his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut tightly so as not to shed any tears in front of her. She took offense, sitting up a little straighter and narrowing her eyes at him. “Jaskier-” She began, her voice sharp and authoritative, but he interrupted her. 

“King.” She choked slightly on whatever she had been about to say, asking again for clarification. “My uncle is dead. I’m King of Redania.”

She sucked in a breath, standing suddenly. If only she had known. She calmed herself, smiling at him in an attempt to hide the thoughts whirling in her mind. “I see.” She moved, heading towards the door to make her hasty escape. She had to-

“I need to see him. I want him to know I’m alive.” Jaskier wasn’t pleading with her. He was making a formal, yet stern request. “You don’t need to worry about me throwing a wrench into your happy union, I can assure you. I want peace between us all - my own happiness be damned.” The curve of her lips turned upwards at the sentiment, and her gaze shifted back to the chair by the bed. 

“Your Majesty needs not to worry about telling the thief anything. I’d say with certainty that he already knows.”

***

Geralt had found the letters easily. He should have waited to request them from her, but he couldn’t. They had been secured in a hidden panel in her bedside table - one that he had known about for months but was always too bored to look through. It had seemed inconsequential at the time. If he had, he surely would have abandoned everything in a desperate search to find the younger man. 

Now, he sat with all ten of them splayed out on the table in front of him, Rennes seated next to him and Yennefer in the seat opposite. Her face was expressionless, as though preparing for a lecture, but he had none for her. It would be a hard argument to win, considering there wasn’t a time where he hadn’t been spying on her just as unethically. Since he’d discovered them, he’d spent several hours chasing down Vilgefortz and every ambassador he could find in the palace, looking for information about the war in Redania. 

“I think I have a plan,” He said, clearing his throat dramatically. “That would benefit all parties involved.” He glanced toward Rennes, and then towards Yennefer. She nodded once, almost imperceptibly. Rennes opened his mouth to ask for clarification - Yennefer and Geralt had obviously spoken to each other about this already, but he was not so lucky. He was interrupted by the Queen's sharp voice.

“You’ll need to talk to him.” She said. “He needs to hear it from you.” Geralt was quiet, giving a slight shake of his head. 

“No. He won’t. It’s you that he needs to learn to trust.” Geralt pointed out, presenting the hook towards her over the table as further proof of his point. Her cheeks went slightly red, and her gaze narrowed. He was right, but it didn’t change anything. 

“You won’t be able to avoid him forever.” She said, waving a hand in the air languidly. As though it did not matter to her. Geralt only shrugged, standing and taking his leave from the room quickly, his left hand clasping his right wrist behind his back as he walked from the room. 

***

"The idea is to join our kingdoms under one banner." Rennes pointed out, holding up his finger in the air as he spoke. When he was finished with the explanation, his hands joined together once again on top of the table, relaxed into his chair. 

Jaskier spluttered in shock and confusion. He stared back and forth between Rennes and Yennefer, who were sitting across the table from him straight-backed and serious. As though they hadn’t just proposed the wildest of plans when he hadn’t so much as gotten around to explaining what he was requesting from them. It seemed, without any conversation with Jaskier, the other monarchs had decided upon what they thought was the best plan.

“I’ve come to you seeking help, at your mercy despite how our countries remain at odds with each other - due to the actions of my uncle - and you offer me… what? A complete surrender, an offer to depose me from my throne, and disenfranchise the land-owning nobles that are the basis of all power in the region?” He was aghast, and Yennefer only rolled her eyes. Despite the existence of a royal family, Redania's kind was voted upon by all the families who had land, no matter how small. What they were suggesting would take all of that power out of their hands indefinitely, leaving them with no choice.

Rennes' smile was pitiful, and he leaned forward slightly. Jaskier found himself wishing it were Vesemir here - or even Geralt, the supposed mastermind behind all of this - and that he didn't feel so alone. Jaskier felt oddly cornered and tried to remember how important it was that they come to an agreement. “Your Majesty, I believe you’re misunderstanding. We know that Redania is out of options unless you’re willing to try your hand at defeating the rebels with no gold and no army.” Jaskier stiffened. 

“The future King of Aedirn wants only what you originally intended to give him: your allegiance and the islands off the coast that we’ve already gained control over. Hopefully for the last time.” Yennefer said, speaking with authority. Despite their collaboration on this, it was only the Queen who could speak on behalf of the country. At least until they were married. 

“He refuses to ask me this himself - or offer clarification.” Jaskier snapped. “I’m to trust what he says when I don’t hear it directly?” He asked, and Rennes let out a soft laugh. 

“You know him more intimately than we do. Can you honestly say that there wasn’t a time that you trusted him with your life?” Rennes asked, continuing when Jaskier’s face softened. He didn’t need to confirm it. “You have both gone through great change - but the boys who wrote these letters are still around, waiting until it’s safe to come out. But Geralt has a responsibility to Aedirn now and he can't help his enemy. But… if you were no longer enemies… Kaedwen and Aedirn would want to help you retain your throne." There was a pause before Rennes continued, as though weighing his words carefully. 

"We are looking for unity. The Aedirn King will take Redania, with the help of Kaedwen, whether you offer it to him now or not." Jaskier's face was hard, his anger and betrayal out there for all the world to see. If he didn't agree to this, the Queen was likely to take him as a prisoner of war. It would only help her cause to do so.

“All Aedirn needs to ensure your sovereignty is a promise of your allegiance to the King. We offer you this in the form of a life-long proposal.” Yennefer added, tilting her head to the side. “Because the union of our countries is more important now.” Jaskier’s brow furrowed in confusion before he realized. He realized what was really happening so suddenly that the force of it almost shot him out of his chair. 

“You’re alright with this?” Jaskier asked, voice low as though they could keep the answer a secret between just them. Yennefer nodded, expressionless. Jaskier’s face twisted into a deep snarl, and he stood violently from his chair, preparing to storm from the room in anger. 

“If Geralt wants to ask me to marry him, he’d better find me and do it himself.” 

***

Triss visited him first. They had become very friendly with each other during Jaskier's time in Kaer Morhen, even writing occasionally back and forth. He was happy to see a friendly face, even though he knew the truth behind her visit. He sat staring out the window, exhausted from all of the people attempting to meet with him. The Aedirnians wanted to discuss the proposal and the intricacies of it, as did everyone else. He hadn’t accepted it outright, refusing to do so without Geralt asking him in person. But somehow they knew he would accept it nonetheless. He had very little choice in the matter. 

He had heard various stories from a few people, and each one left him more confused than the last. He’d heard mentions of Geralt's time spent in the dungeon, losing his hand. Jaskier had been angry at first, and the next time he’d seen Yennefer he had run in the other direction lest he said something that could ruin the whole offer they had made. Jaskier knew he needed to speak with her about it eventually, but it would be useless without hearing anything from Geralt first. Then, he’d heard about Geralt’s proposal to Yennefer on the boat. 

He supposed they could bond over that in time - how Geralt had somehow forced both Yennefer and Jaskier into a corner between loving him and being forced to rely on him. Jaskier was unsurprised and had accepted long ago that he would spend a large portion of his life letting Geralt drag him around by the collar. He suspected that Yennefer had not come to that same conclusion and that she would fight and kick her husband all the way. 

Unless the queen and future king agreed on something, in which case they seemed to be an unstoppable force. Hence, the proposal to Jaskier. It was an offer that he could not refuse even if he wanted to. 

“I imagine he’s sent you to talk to me,” Jaskier asked, not looking away from the view out his window. Triss sat near to him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, comforted by her presence. He felt very, very alone in this palace. 

“He does wish to see you,” She said softly, and Jaskier snorted. “He is still very fond of you, Jaskier.” She sounded a little frustrated. “He wants me to apologize on his behalf. He was having trouble putting it into words, you know how he can be. But I have known him intimately for many years longer than you’ve been alive. The treaties that we are negotiating every day are vital, and could easily exist without a marriage stringing them together. If he didn’t love you, both of you… Rennes and Vesemir have already given him the option to cut and run many times.” She sighed, taking a deep breath. 

“You are one of the very few people who could destroy him - his heart has rested in your hands since you first met. Yennefer can see that.” She said, and Jaskier looked at her, a newfound understanding dawning on his face. 

*** 

Geralt had been sucked in rather easily, he had to admit. There wasn't anyone able to get on his nerves like Lambert, so when the younger wolf began pestering Geralt in the morning, it quickly went too far. They were in the middle of a meeting when Lambert started drumming his fingers loudly on the table. 

Geralt had ignored it. He was too busy pretending to listen to whatever was being said - he could not care less about grain tax - and it was hard to do when he was obviously distracted.

Then the other laughed, far too loudly and much too long at something that was not a joke. 

The baron they were meeting with, along with everyone else in the room, could find nothing funny about the worry for grain tax potentially rising with the new treaty. Geralt wished Vesemir were here to remind his brother that this was not Kaer Morhen and he was not able to just do as he pleased. 

Then, Lambert started to poke Geralt. The white wolf had closed his eyes slowly, taking a deep breath in and trying to contain his composure. The baron shut his mouth immediately, not wanting to further the wrath of the witcher who would one day be his king. 

"Lambert." Geralt was going to have to take Vesemir's place. "You're acting like a child. This is not Kaer Morhen." He tried to keep his voice level.

"Make me," Lambert said, grabbing a chunk of the white wolf's hair and pulling it. Hard. Geralt turned swiftly to grab for his hand, but the wolf was already gone. Geralt snarled, ignoring the cries of the others seated at the table as he stood, giving chase. 

He could smell him; Lambert had been eating a potent sweet roll during the meeting, and the scent was easy to follow. Geralt didn't realize that it was _too_ easy until he'd tackled his brother to the floor. They tussled for a minute, and Lambert was lucky that Geralt was wearing the wooden hand and not the hook, before the clearing of a throat caused him to stop. 

Yennefer was standing above him, one eyebrow raised as she appraised him. "How are you supposed to be my King when you're this easy to bait into violence?" She asked him, and he looked embarrassed, quickly climbing off of his brother and standing. 

"He's not the only one easily baited into violence," Lambert reminded her pointedly, and she ignored him. She had learned quickly how best to deal with him.

"Did you pay my brother to test my resolve, Your Majesty?" Geralt asked, putting his hands behind his back, and she shook her head. 

Her gaze traveled across the room slowly, and he followed it. "He did."

Jaskier was there, seated at the table. Hands clasped in front of him, perfectly business-like. He did not smile. 

"It seems your childhood sweetheart is more cunning than you believed him to be - being able to lure both of us out of our respective meetings so easily." She commented, staring at Jaskier. He was not happy at the way she was talking about him, and it shone plainly on his face. He, unlike them, was unable to conceal his emotions behind a mask. 

Geralt shook his head gently, taking a seat provided for him at the table. "He's always known how to push people's buttons." He murmured, gesturing for Yennefer to sit with them. 

They were quiet as Jaskier waited. No one said anything. After a moment, he let out a strangled cry, throwing his hands into the air. Then he waited another second, to no response. Finally, he controlled himself, clasping his hands in front of him again, letting out an elongated sigh. 

"I'll not give up my throne."

Both of their eyebrows went up. Okay, this they could handle. Yennefer called out into the hallway, and Vilgefortz stepped into the room. Rennes followed closely behind him.

"You won't have a choice." Geralt replied, eyes sparkling as the wheels behind them turned. "You must be King of Redania, not a puppet." Jaskier had never wanted to be King. Geralt was worried he would be unhappy, Jaskier could tell. He was reading both of them like the back of a book now that they were seated in front of him. 

"I don't want you to have control over the internal workings of my Kingdom." Jaskier said, and it wasn't a question. Geralt looked like he was biting his tongue, and Yennefer nodded. 

"We wouldn't dare take such an important responsibility from such a young King." She said, smiling. The smile told him that she wouldn't touch the internal workings of his country if she had a ten-foot pole. He didn't blame her. 

"You've no need to be worried about being taken advantage of, Your Majesty." The title directed at Jaskier was new, but in the short time he had been using it, it had grown to fit him quite comfortably. Geralt was not looking at the poet who didn't know how to swing a sword. From the looks of his scars, he'd suffered enough in the past few months to fill a lifetime. 

Jaskier laughed bitterly. "Taken advantage of?" He asked. "Geralt, you're stealing my country out from under me. For a thief, you're quite talented in that somehow not even the metaphysical is safe." He shook his head. 

"There is one more request." Jaskier said, and they both tilted their heads to listen. He looked at Geralt head-on, shifting so the weight of it would hit the other man full force. "I will not swear fealty to you as King, nor Aedirn, nor take the title of King's Consort if you, Geralt of Rivia, do not apologize," he counted it off on his fingers. "And ask me yourself."

Geralt sat still. Then, he drummed his fingers on the table once, and stood. Squaring his shoulders, he left the room calmly, not daring to speed up for fear that running would reveal how anxious those two things made him. 

***

"Jaskier, do you really keep a knife under your pillow when you sleep?" Geralt asked, avoiding the wide sweep of the weapon in his general direction, and Jaskier blinked at him. "You don't trust our guards?" Jaskier was unimpressed. Geralt was shifting anxiously from foot to foot. "It's okay, you're in good company. Yennefer sleeps with two under her pillow and keeps her personalized pistol in a holster on the nightstand." Geralt had been doing the same while in this country, as well. 

"What are you doing in my room in the middle of the night?" Jaskier asked, voice flat. 

Geralt started rooting through Jaskier's wardrobe, inside of it was a variety of clothes that the future king had paid for. As Jaskier had started wearing them, he’d realized that a majority of the coats had deep inner pockets, almost too long to fit anything in them comfortably. He supposed Geralt had a use for it but had no idea what he was expected to do with the empty space. When Jaskier asked the tailor where all of this money was coming from, he'd just said it was a gift from the future king. Another attempt at apologizing without talking anything through.

"I'm going crazy here - never a moment of peace. I think I spend most of my time just running _away_ from people who are trying to win my favor." Geralt scrunched his face up, pulling out a pair of black riding pants and a loose-fitting black blouse, tossing them Jaskier's way and settling into a chair. "I thought you'd want to take a walk."

Jaskier eyed him suspiciously, getting dressed in the clothes that had been chosen for him. The riding pants featured two bands of gold running from the outside of his hip and down to where it stopped at the ankle on both sides, and in between them was a single red stripe. The symbolism was so obvious, and so perfectly Geralt, he couldn't help smiling a little bit. He pulled on his boots and straightened, moving to a mirror to try and smooth his hair down from sleep. 

Geralt grabbed his arm, stopping him and reaching up to adjust it himself, not letting Jaskier get close enough to a mirror. "Explain to me how you grew three inches?" 

The interaction had already softened Jaskier's anger, following Geralt without even double-checking his work in the mirror. They snuck their way through the palace, and Jaskier was transported back to their time in her prisons. The man leading him was so different than the Geralt that helped him escape - more confident, more withdrawn. But he was still Geralt - showing up at the last minute and fixing everything just the way it needed to be done. On no one's schedule but his own. 

Geralt led him through the castle never running into a single guard. They were entering hallways without slowing down as soon as a guard exited it on the other end, and there were plenty of close calls that had Jaskier holding his breath. But it seemed that Geralt was managing just as he always had, eventually leading them out of the palace and into the city below. 

Geralt himself was wearing muted browns, as well as a ratty gray cap over his head in which he stuffed all of his white hair. If he kept his eyes on the road, which he did, they passed easily as Aedirnian citizens heading out of the city. 

They crossed the bridge and Geralt took a sharp turn off the road, startling Jaskier with the suddenness of it, leading him into the nearby grove of apple trees whose blossoms were drooping to make way for the fruit that would soon need to be harvested. They stopped after a few hundred yards, no lights to help Jaskier see, and he gripped the back of Geralt's cloak just to keep track of him. Geralt guided him gently into a sitting position, and instead of dirt or grass below him, he felt only the comfort of a wool blanket. 

There was a small whooshing sound from Geralt's hand, and suddenly the area around them was awash with light. A series of interconnected candles were strung in the trees and on the ground around them. There was not only a blanket, but pillows as well as a plate of bread and cheese for them to snack on. It was as though Geralt had read his mind and made his dreams a reality. It was the most romantic thing that Jaskier hadn't tried to set up himself. 

Geralt sat down as well, crossing his legs in front of him and rubbing at his right forearm, staring at the ground. As though now that they were face to face he didn't know what it was he wanted to say. Jaskier was determined not to speak first this time, instead keeping himself occupied by admiring the sight around them. 

"Well, uh. Go on. Tell me a little about yourself so I'm not talking to a stranger." Geralt's voice was a whisper, and Jaskier's face dawned in realization. He smiled wide, putting his hands over his mouth, remembering the first conversation they'd ever had. 

"Julian Alfred Pankratz, King of Redania. Twenty-one, now, you missed my birthday. Mother: Missing. Father: currently fighting in my war in the country I fled." Jaskier told him… everything. How rebels had stormed his villa on the island and set it on fire, killing everyone, including his tutor. How he had been living in hiding as a slave. How he'd seen a side of his country that no noble had ever seen. 

Jaskier told him about running away and joining up with the army, finding his father and Dijkstra again. How over half of his barons were against him and looking to instill a regent in his place until he proved himself not to be the talentless child he was in court. 

Geralt listened eagerly as he always did, keeping a respectful distance. The story was important, and Jaskier had to tell someone. He'd been bottling it all up, the relief he felt at sharing was enough to bring him to tears, and Geralt rubbed his back as he sobbed. 

Once the story was finished, they lapsed into silence again, although this time it was much more comfortable. 

"Can you tell me about…" Jaskier trailed off, inclining his head towards the wooden hand. Geralt touched it subconsciously, tearing the glove off and revealing the smooth surface for Jaskier to see. 

"I'm sure you know the story." Geralt said grimly. "I don't hate her for it." His voice was quiet. 

"But it must have been a great loss," Jaskier whispered, scooting closer to Geralt so that their legs were touching. "It can't be easy… knowing that you're marrying the person who did it."

Geralt shook his head. "She's terrifying… and beautiful… and cunning. She was only doing what she thought was right. I didn't understand it at the time - how volatile her world is. I know better now."

"You love her," Jaskier said simply, no jealousy present in his voice. Geralt nodded. "When did you know that it was love? Ever since that night in the garden?" A shake of the head. Jaskier had heard the story from Triss - Geralt would never have been able to relay it to a third party himself.

"It was after the expedition. I saw her cry." He said it so simply as if all the answers were there. "Just the barest scent of sadness, and a few tears. She's the Shadow Queen, I didn't know it was possible. At first, I was bitter, smirking at finding her in such a vulnerable position. But then… it wasn't funny anymore." He put his hand over his chest. "I almost climbed down to comfort her."

Jaskier hummed pityingly. How painful it must have been to fall in love with someone you've already labeled your enemy. "And she loves you?" Geralt shrugged. 

"Things are complicated between us right now. I don't think she believes I truly love her." He said, clutching at his right wrist subconsciously. "I keep telling her and -"

Jaskier was baffled. "Geralt. Why should she believe you?" The witcher was offended at first. "I mean… your relationship is built on lies and trying to get the better of each other. Your trust is building, I can already see it. But it's my understanding she has very little people to trust in so fully." Geralt blinked at him as though it was something he'd never considered before. 

"I'm sorry, Jaskier," He said, voice rough with emotion. "For what it's worth. I didn't intend to betray you in this way-" Jaskier reached out, cupping his cheeks with both hands, a soft smile on his face. 

"I would never begrudge you for love. Maybe when we first met I would have taken it personally but… there are things bigger than us now. I'm not angry with you for your decisions, I only wish I could have been a part of them. But you were not one of my kidnappers, so you can't be blamed for that either." He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. "Do you love me?" He asked, and Geralt nodded. "Then I care not about anything else." 

There was a brief pause before Jaskier continued, soaking up the presence of his wolf for a moment. 

"Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. / These, our bodies, possessed by light. / Tell me we'll never get used to it." And, oh, Geralt missed how easily Jaskier could pull prose from almost nowhere. Geralt stood then, shifting so that he was lowered down onto one knee. Jaskier looked surprised, watching with wide eyes as Geralt fumbled into his pocket for something. 

"I don't have as many words as you do but…" He clenched at the object in his hand nervously, and Jaskier could not quite tell what it was. "I gave this to you before you left Kaer Morhen in the hopes that it would provide you with some sort of protection when I could not be with you." He held out the witcher's medallion which Jaskier took, the familiar head of a cat staring up at him. It was as shiny as the day Geralt had nabbed it from the floor of the temple. "I wanted to return it, as I knew you'd grown fond of it. But, it is my hope that if you were to accept my proposal, that I will be with you always. Even when far away. That is why I had this made, as a symbol of my devotion and protection over you as the King of Aedirn, Kaedwen, and now Redania." He revealed, as if from thin air, the ring he had been hiding. It was large, as big as a signet ring, meant to be seen from a distance. It was coated in Redanian red and Aedirn gold, but the face of it was that of a wolf. Geralt had been working with Rennes to design a coat of arms for his house - this was the finished product. "With this ring, I invite you to join my family as not only His Majesty the King of Redania, but also the Royal Consort of the King and Queen of Aedirn."

"Queen?" Jaskier asked, reaching his fingers out to trail them over the ring in awe, his eyes moving to Geralt's to ascertain the truth behind his words. "Surely she doesn't-"

"This was her idea." Geralt said simply. "I'm not yet King, so I think it best that I don't speak with her voice." He paused, watching his face intently. "Julian Alfred Pankratz. Will you marry me?"

***

He couldn't start wearing the ring now, not before Geralt was actually king. Jaskier kept it in his pocket most of the time, often turning it over in his hands when he thought no one was looking. 

He wore the witcher medallion proudly. It had been the first gift he'd received from Geralt, and to him it had shown that he had connections outside of Redania, earning him a bit of favor from the other nobles in the court. After the burning of his villa, it had actually saved his life, and he'd suspected that Triss had cast a more stationary version of the Quen sign in order to protect him. He hadn't truly felt safe without it, and now that it was back he could finally relax in Aedirn. He had the surety of the future king behind him, and for all intents and purposes, the Queen's as well. 

Jaskier had done a good job not showing it, but she was truly terrifying when she wanted to be. Every moment she was surrounded by guards and attendants who were prepared to gut anyone that so much as looked at her the wrong way. And yet, whenever her entourage turned towards him, it was her that he braced for. 

He couldn't stop picturing her in front of all her barons, ordering the death of the one they'd brought for her to marry. As a poet and storyteller, he was in love with her by sheer principle alone, putting aside his actual feelings. He understood why Geralt could never take his eyes off of her when in the room. 

"Your Majesty," Jaskier was sitting against the wall after one of their dinners, watching as the guests danced along with the music. He had always enjoyed a good ball, but nowadays he did not feel inclined to join in wit the rabble littered throughout the room. He thought it might be because he had changed, and this did not bring him any joy. It wasn't the case, though. 

Geralt had found his way to stand next to him, watching the crowd thoughtfully. "I'm going to dance with the Queen now, and then I think you should ask for her next one." Jaskier looked a little shocked but nodded. It made sense, really. He was as bound to them as they were to each other, with treaties all but finalized. 

Geralt set his drink down, approaching her throne and bowing deeply. She smiled at him, all politeness and no emotion, standing and taking his outstretched hand as the next piece started up. Jaskier watched as he twirled her around, as stiff as a bored and overall uncomfortable to be there. They seemed to chat for a bit before the song ended, and then he led her back to her chair. 

Geralt was about to step back down the steps when she called his name again. He turned, eyes a little wide and hopeful, and she reached out to cup his face gently. If Jaskier were any less familiar with Geralt's body, he would have missed the shudder that ran through him at her touch. The way his one hand clenched at his side. He was afraid of her, and it was a deep feeling that might never go away.

"Good night."

"Good night, Your Majesty."

The thief hastily made his way towards Jaskier, patting his shoulder, and inclining his head towards the queen as though he wasn't still tense from the experience. "Your turn." Jaskier stood, turning to Geralt. 

"What did you two talk about?" He had yet to see them actually… interact with each other. Other than dancing, they hardly even looked in each other's direction. If it wasn't for Geralt's words the night before, he would think this was entirely a political farce instead of just kind of one. 

"I have been instructed by Triss to thank her for her benevolent efforts in hosting us. And then she said if I was so happy with it, there was a hunting party leaving in the morning if I'd like to join." He said it casually, and Jaskier raised an eyebrow. 

"That was all?" They had both looked slightly pale by the end of it. Geralt shrugged. 

"I told her that I'd been hunted in Aedirn too many times already, thank you very much." Jaskier looked up at the gods, a silent plea to ignore his lover's stupidity. That invitation could be nothing more than an insult, and Geralt just continued to push her buttons. Could she really love him back?

Jaskier approached the throne, and the queen looked slightly surprised, although not unhappy. He mimicked Geralt's bow, and she stood exactly as she had done with the thief, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. Unlike her dance with Geralt, however, she began talking to him almost immediately when the music began. 

"I see he's given you the medallion once again," Her tone was slightly disinterested, but he knew she wouldn't bring it up if she didn't care. "I heard about your jaunt into the woods. One would think you both wished to die early deaths."

He wanted to say that people died early deaths all the time, and often did not have a choice in the matter. But he didn't. "You heard it from him?" She smiled, and it was all the answer. Of course, they hadn't talked about it. "If I may be so bold as to inquire about why he wouldn't have updated you as soon as he was able?"

She shook her head, her mask not dropping. At first, he thought she didn't want him to ask, but then she continued talking. "I'm angry with him." She said simply. "For taking my country from me."

"No, you're not."

She huffed, confused as to how he had seen through her so easily. "Hmm. No. I'm angry with myself, Your Majesty. I'm a fool to have invited a one-handed man on a hunting party. A fool to have fallen for someone after I've cut their hand off." Her words meant a lot, but her face betrayed nothing. Her face was casual, as though they were discussing the weather. 

"Least said, soonest mended isn't the advice for every occasion, Your Majesty," he mused. "One of you will have to open up."

"That was me opening up," she snapped, allowing him to spin her before rejoining him. 

"Geralt is a witcher from Kaer Morhen. I assume you've never been to the court there - I assure you, inviting him on a hunting party hurt him very little. You need to communicate the way you're feeling, you're going to have to believe him when he says he loves you."

"He doesn't love me. He can't. Not after-" She broke off, her gaze going towards Geralt's seat in the corner, watching as a baroness tried to talk to him, seemingly to no avail. 

"He wouldn't say it if it wasn't true," Jaskier said, ducking his head to look at her. 

"You wouldn't know." She said, pointedly looking over his shoulder. "He's never lied to you." Jaskier laughed, gently placing his forehead against her shoulder as he tried to compose himself. 

"For the first eight months, I knew him he did nothing but lie to me." He pointed out. "And I'm sure he's lied to me since."

"But how can you trust him after that?" She asked, sounding incredulous. "Anything he's saying could be a lie." 

"I sometimes believe his lies are the truth, but I have never mistaken his truth for a lie. If he is telling you the truth, I promise you that you'll know." The dance was coming to an end. "At the end of the day, though, you'll have to believe him. Because he’s going to have your entire palace up in arms and your court in chaos and every member of it from the barons to the boot cleaners coming to you for his blood, and you are going to have to deal with it.” 

Yennefer smiled, not unfondly. “You make him sound like more trouble than he is worth.” 

“No,” said Jaskier thoughtfully. “Never more than he is worth.” 

***

The wedding had to happen soon. The treaties were finished, but every moment spent away from Redania Jaskier was losing his grip on what little power he had. In a week's time, Jaskier knew his barons would be convening to vote on the regent. He had to be there to convince them otherwise. 

They decided that a large celebration could be put off until Jaskier could join them. He hadn't been the one to even bring it up, Geralt had insisted they save the money to throw a very large ball when he came home. But the wedding had to happen. 

It wasn't particularly romantic as far as weddings go. He knew that Yennefer and Geralt had yet to talk through their emotions with each other, and he doubted that it would happen if he was not there. But, they'd gotten this far without him, so he wasn't worried. 

When it came time for him to swear fealty, he approached the throne. Geralt looked largely uncomfortable, and Yennefer, slightly bored. But Jaskier got down on his knees before them and promised them the service of Redania should they ever need it as well as his unending debt for their help in securing his country. He promised his armies and his treasury in his service to them. Vilgefortz stepped forward after the declaration, asking Jaskier if he accepted the title of Royal Consort of the King and Queen of Aedirn and if he accepted the rights of the newly crowned Aedirnian King as Annux of Redania. 

Jaskier was sure to keep his gaze fixed on his new lords, remembering when Geralt told him over the campfire that witchers could smell lies. Jaskier had never asked if it were true, and now, on his knees before them, he knew he would never need to know. 

It was going to take more than a few bloody barons to make him turn on the two monarchs, matching crowns glittering on their heads.

They sent him on his way immediately, rallying a small group to travel with him. Triss Merigold had volunteered to portal him to where he needed to be, and a few witchers selected by Geralt's own hand were traveling with him. Jaskier wore the ring from Geralt proudly on his hand, as well as the medallion around his neck. He was sporting only Redanian red throughout the rest of his attire. 

Curiously enough, that morning before the wedding, an attendant had arrived with a gift for him from the Queen. 

He'd felt slightly awed in the knowledge that she had been thinking of him today of all days, and was delighted to find another ring inside of the small box. This one was more delicate and feminine, affixed with rare black pearls found only on Skellige. He wore it on a chain around his neck, fearing that the delicate craftsmanship would be ruined on the journey. 

There had been many conversations with them all about Jaskier's plans moving forward. Geralt had made it clear that only Jaskier could be the one to make the call, in the end, about how best to handle his barons. Yennefer's advice had been obvious. 

"You need to find your most significant adversary, and you need to destroy him, annihilate him root and branch. If you can capture him alive and have him publicly ganched, so much the better.” She'd said it abruptly over a private dinner, taking a casual sip of wine. Geralt and Rennes blanched, but the Queen took no offense. "You think I'm too cruel. But neither one of you has any experience in the matter."

It was true. Geralt's throne was handed to him, and Rennes was much the same. Their rise to power was nothing compared to what Jaskier was going through, and Jaskier's nothing in comparison to Yennefer's. He was lucky it was not his family he would have to face when it came down to it. 

He had asked Geralt later for his opinion, and his King did not have much of an answer for him. "I only know that if you don't look for an alternative, you won't find one."

Even now Jaskier was still at a loss, preparing to leave. A servant appeared carrying a rather plain-looking wooden box, holding it out to Jaskier. "We have one last parting gift for you," Yennefer said, and the servant lifted the lid. Inside was a dueling pistol, specially made. The edges of it were lined with gold, and small flowers chased each other around the handle. On the side of the barrel were four words: The Queen Made Me. It was a reminder of the advice she had given him. 

Underneath of it at the bottom of the box was a slight tab, but when Jaskier went to pull on it and see what was hidden, Geralt stopped him. “You have heard my queen’s advice. My gift is below. Would you wait to see it until you have decided what you will do with hers?" Jaskier nodded.

Despite the confidence they seemed to have in him, even as he stepped through Triss’ portal and into Sounis, he had no idea what was going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is back!! :D
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always welcome (and encouraged)! You can find me on Tumblr at: [i-am-a-blobfish](https://i-am-a-blob-fish.tumblr.com/)


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